Pull of the String
by At the Threshold
Summary: When Snape lies dying from Nagini's venomous bite, an unexpected cure is found in the memories of Hermione Granger. But after fourteen years of happiness, the magic that sustains him starts to come undone and a web of mysteries threatens to unravel his new family. Snanger. Post-war AU.
1. The Strength to Bear

Pull of the String

Chapter 1 – The Strength to Bear

The world was dark and hazy around Severus Snape as his life ebbed slowly away. His surroundings had long since become indiscernible, swimming around his eyes like blurry clouds. Shrieks of war echoed endlessly in his ears, eclipsing the faint sound of his ever fading heartbeat.

But while blood trickled down in crimson streams from the perforations in his neck, intermingling with the dark folds of his robe, he felt no pain. The agony that wracked his body during Nagini's attacks had all but vanished, his body shutting down under its incapacity to tolerate such torment. Now death was sure to come quickly, Snape thought.

And what a fitting way to die, for he was alone. He had spent most of his life in isolation, most of his true thoughts and feelings utterly concealed; it was only proper that his life end in the same manner.

His murderer Lord Voldemort had long since left his pathetic remains crumpled by the window, discarding him like a splintered old wand, useful in its day but now inconvenient and worthless. Potter and his friends had likewise come and gone – gone to the Pensieve to view the memories his tears would unlock, or so he wished to believe. The thought that someone would know the truth, even if it was the boy who had always elicited both grief and rage from Snape, was indeed comforting.

As he tried feebly to move his leg he realized that his body was no longer responding to his mind, the paralyzing venom spreading steadily through his veins. As soon as it reached his heart, he would be finished. It was only a matter of minutes now before he would be free; released from the war, the darkness, the arduous burden of playing Dumbledore's spy, released into the presence of Lily. Yes, he would finally be free.

But was that truly what Severus Snape desired? Even as he lay battered on the cold wooden floorboards, greasy black locks sticking to his sallow, sweaty skin, was there nothing that held him back? Nothing that called him away from the bright white light that was spreading gradually before his eyes?

"He's still alive!"

 _That voice_.

A chorus of voices had exclaimed those words in tandem, bearing various tones and pitches, and yet there was only one voice that fell upon Snape's ears. One voice that still claimed power over him.

Struggling against his heavy eyelids to open his eyes, and not even recalling when they had fallen shut, he was met with a vista of dark, blurry greys. Several hues of brown and red managed to make themselves visible amongst the sea of shades, but no forms were discernable to the dying wizard. His blinking, if he considered the frequent fading of greys to be blinking, was languid and labored as he attempted to understand the situation. He had possessed an extraordinarily keen mind in his life, and even now it grappled tenaciously to comprehend the scene around him.

It was with tremendous resolve that Snape forced the image before him into better focus. While the figures were nowhere near clear, it soon became possible to distinguish one from another and make a fairly accurate conjecture at the identity of each feathered blob. Potter was kneeling before him with very uncomfortable proximity, but Snape no longer possessed the strength to reprimand the meddlesome boy. While he could not discern any features in the boy's pale blob of a face, he knew that Potter must be talking to him, for he detected faint echoes of fervent pleas.

" _So you have forgiven me, Potter. How very typical."_ Through the increasing numbness and pervading dizziness that enwrapped his body, Snape found the strength to curl up the corner of his mouth in a signature sneer. This seemed to please Potter, for the boy soon withdrew from his face, taking his unpleasant body odor with him.

Weasley must have also been in the general area, for the vibrant orange hue that bobbed in and out of Snape's vision could belong to no other. An older, portly figure also stood amidst the haze, a silhouette he had seen enough times to recognize as Professor Slughorn. How the old Potions professor came to join Potter's valiant, foolhardy, and utterly futile attempt at saving his life, Snape would never know. Perhaps Slughorn had too learned the truth about Dumbledore's faithful spy and felt compassion for his former student.

However animated each figure was as they hovered around his crumpled form, none of these blurry silhouettes commanded the fading professor's attention. Through the foggy blanket draped over his eyes, it was a brown mess of curls that pierced through the obscurity and captivated Snape's intense interest. She hadn't drawn as near as Potter had, yet she crouched close by his legs, observing him silently.

If those deep brown eyes ceased blurring together with her pale skin, what would they look like? Would they hold tears?

As the paralysis continued to creep up his legs, Snape was seized with the sudden desire to behold that face. If he were to gaze upon her face one last time and perceive its fairness clearly, then he could let himself slip into the comforting shroud of death with one sweet memory to usher him into the unknown. It was with this resolution that he squeezed his weary eyes tightly shut, expending most of his energy in a formerly effortless muscle contraction before again opening his eyes. While the world that met him was still streaked and watery, he could observe it with decidedly more clarity than before.

With his newly improved vision came more audible sound, but Potter's frantic blabbering was deliberately tuned out as Snape trained his gaze on the girl before him. _Miss Granger._

The sorrow that glistened in her large brown eyes could not have been described by the greatest Muggle poet. The tears that flowed softly down her cheeks were likewise indescribable, and in truth a might puzzling to Severus Snape. If the girl had indeed ever cared for him, as certain instances during her third to sixth years had evidenced, such foolish feelings had undoubtedly been quashed when he had withdrawn from her and commenced the final phase of Dumbledore's plan. While he had not seen her in nearly a year, he held no doubts that she strongly shared Potter's hatred of him. But even if a whisper of something else remained, was the Pensieve's reflection enough to absolve all the crimes he had committed in her eyes?

As these memories swirled through Snape's wearying mind, he found his lips parting in a futile attempt to speak. It was certainly a foolish endeavor, for the venom that overwhelmed his system was sapping too much energy to allow for such feat. And even if he could speak, what would he say? There were no words appropriate to speak to a student he cared deeply for in a strange, subconscious way; in a way that he hadn't even allowed himself to acknowledge until he lay dying. All he could do was gaze weakly at her and hope she finally understood.

While the faint sound that managed to escape his mouth was unintelligible, it seemed to elicit a reaction from the people around his proverbial deathbed. They all appeared slightly relieved, as if they were wholly invested in his survival. It was remarkable, really, what power a little insight wielded over one's prejudices. Those who had once grimaced at the mere sight of him were now attempting vigorously to save his life.

As Snape's gaze reluctantly left Miss Granger, he tuned his ear back to the dialogue around him. While everyone but Granger seemed to be speaking at that moment, it was Potter's voice that first reached his ears.

"We need to get him to Saint Mungo's!"

"I don't think there's time," Slughorn answered gravely, glancing at the crumpled up wizard in the corner.

"Isn't there any way to stop the venom?" Potter asked urgently. "Any potion? Any spell?"

"That snake is a very ancient breed and her venom has already spread too far. I'm afraid it's too late for common cures like blood-replenishing to work," Slughorn replied with something that sounded suspiciously like regret.

"Come on, you're a Potions professor! There's got to be something!" Weasley pressed, seeming almost as concerned as Potter for the dreaded professor's life.

Slughorn seemed to take a moment to ponder as Snape identified the irritating, lip smacking noise the old man occasionally made when contemplating. "There is an ancient potion, Fortaffectus, that is _rumored_ to give one strength enough to endure any poison." The students immediately perked up, and even Granger turned her eyes hopefully to Slughorn, her hand cautiously resting upon Snape's numb leg for reasons unknown to the owner of the leg. "However," Slughorn quickly added in an effective attempt to quash their hopes. "It hasn't been successfully brewed for centuries, and there are only a few of us who even know of it. It may very well just be a myth. There is no guarantee that it will work."

The three students hesitated for a moment before Harry responded. "Well it's better than just watching him die!"

As Slughorn's gaze turned towards Snape, Severus' ashen and paralyzed condition reminded him of the urgency of the situation. Without another word he sprang into action, receiving a flask from Miss Granger before he could even utter his request. In a flash that dizzied Snape's failing senses, the four of them knelt on the floor by his feet, huddled around the flask as Harry transfigured a nearby cushion into a cauldron.

"According to the legends in which this potion has been made, the brewing time is nearly nothing," Slughorn stated after a quick _"incendio"_ to light a small, contained fire beneath the cauldron.

"That's good then!" Weasley exclaimed hopefully. Then, with a quick glance at Professor Snape, he added, "That's what we need. He looks like he doesn't have much time left."

"That's just the problem; it's _too_ good," Slughorn responded with a troubled expression, his rapid hand motions stilling. "It sounds too fantastic to work."

"That doesn't mean anything," Potter dismissed with a wave of his hand. "There are plenty of potions that don't take long to brew. We make them all the time in Potions class."

"Yes, but the Fortaffectus potion is listed in _Farbanker's Index of Mythical Spells and Potions_ because – "

"There's no time to argue! We have to try!" It was Granger's frantic voice that pierced through their quibbling, effectively halting Slughorn in what promised to be an informative but dangerously lengthy explanation. The girl appeared particularly vexed as the eyes beneath her furrowed brow glowed with concern and impatience.

Upon seeing the resolve on Miss Granger's face, Slughorn's apprehensive features set into a similar expression, responding with a definitive nod. "Right," he agreed.

Immediately Potter flew up from his crouched position, nearly tripping over one of Snape's numb legs in the process. "I'll get the ingredients! What do we need?"

The overeager boy had almost disappeared through the doorway before Slughorn had a chance to respond. "I'm afraid this potion does not require simple ingredients," he called after Potter.

"Of course it doesn't," muttered Weasley in irritation. Visibly tired of crouching, he flopped down into a seated position on the floor.

Instantly returning to the group, Potter regarded his Potions master with confusion and impatience. "Then what?"

While Slughorn spoke at a slower pace than the anxious students, there was still a substantial amount of anxiety in his voice. "The Fortaffectus potion requires only one ingredient: memories of deep love for the victim…" Clearing his throat with palpable discomfort, he added, "So in this case, for Severus…"

As the scene unfolded before Snape, his confusion at their apparent concern continued to swell as his battle with the darkness grew increasingly arduous, death threatening to overtake him at any moment. It was with great exertion that he kept his gaze trained on Miss Granger, for his eyelids longed to fall shut under their tremendous weight. The difficulty of this task increased with the burden of focusing his hearing on the rapid words the students and old professor were spewing, but Snape was soon relieved from this duty when a heavy silence fell over the Shrieking Shack. Initially this relaxed Snape, for their hectic babbling and movements wearied his fading mind, but he soon sensed the unease that had settled upon them. Observing their expressions, he found varying degrees of contemplation, disappointment, and regret.

After the silence had almost grown deafening, Potter ultimately broke it with a sigh. "Well, I can't say I actually have any…" he admitted quietly. Having finally discovered the truth about Hogwarts' most hated professor, there was a discernable tone of regret in the boy's words.

"Blimey, who can blame us?" Weasley responded after a moment, his voice tinged with sadness. "He's not exactly the most loveable bloke. I doubt we could find _anyone_ who has loving memories of him."

While those words elicited expressions of sorrowful resignation, Snape found strength within him to manage another caustic smirk. _"You forget I am still here, Mr. Weasley,"_ he thought. _"And that remark would have earned you a considerable amount of detention if I wasn't currently dying…"_ But however detention-worthy Weasley's assessment was, Snape could not deny its validity.

The uncomfortable silence had been ushered back in with Weasley's words, except now it was colored with remorse. None of Snape's overeager saviors were willing to state the thoughts they shared, that their attempts were futile. It was simply impossible to create a Fortaffectus potion for Severus Snape.

Raising his gaze from the captivating floorboards, Harry looked to Slughorn. "And there is no other cure for Nagini's venom?" he asked crestfallenly, already certain of the answer.

"No."

The word fell heavily upon the musty air of the Shrieking Shack, its finality bearing a mournful timbre. All eyes again returned to the floorboards as the regret on their features intensified. Snape cautiously moved his gaze from each face in turn, careful not to jar his senses with rapid eye movement. It was really quite bizarre how keenly they regretted their negative estimation of the dreaded former Potions master. If Snape had been a more sentimental man, he would have contemplated how he had purposefully portrayed himself as an insufferable monster, creating fears and disdain within all his students. But even in his final moments, the wizard kept those thoughts firmly secured inside the deep recesses of his mind, for they did not bring him any regret.

Even Miss Granger, who had once refused to cower in fear or glare bitterly, had surely fallen prey to the influences of his odious behavior. He was certain that recent events had effectively quashed every ounce of respect she had held for him.

As his thoughts had again wandered towards the girl, his eyes followed suit, focusing the blurry blob of her head into focus. While the other faces he surveyed displayed remorse and hopelessness, there was something distinctly different about Granger's visage. The way she bit her lower lip in contemplation, the creases between her eyebrows, and the furrows on forehead all seemed to project a strange sort of hesitance. Intrigued, he continued to gaze fixedly at her until her brown eyes flickered up to his, locking onto him for a second before darting away. While there was no feeling left in his lower body, he seemed to detect a visible tightening of the hand on his leg as her eyes suddenly grew resolute.

"Sir, I believe I may have some memories that could be of use…" While starting out strong, Granger's voice seemed to falter slightly as all eyes focused on her.

Snape could sense the palpable shock in the air as Potter and Weasley gaped at the girl, clearly at a loss for words. Slughorn too appeared surprised, but his astonishment was nearly not as severe as the boys' bewilderment, for he was soon able to recover and speak. "Well, good," he said quickly, brandishing his wand. "Let's see if they're strong enough."

Granger's frame appeared to have tensed considerably as she removed her hand from Snape's leg and scooted closer to Slughorn. While the same look of determination glistened in her eyes, a faint blush was noticeable in the candlelight.

"I will only need to copy the memories," Slughorn explained. As he brought his wand level to Granger's head, the two boys watched silently behind him, still too bemused for words. After receiving a small nod from the girl, the old wizard muttered, " _Memoria effingo!"_

A brilliant stream of memories flowed from between the girl's eyes and into Slughorn's wand, a thousand little shards glistening like diamonds. The Shrieking Shack had become illuminated by the magic's glow, little specks of light dancing ethereally across the walls and the ceiling. If Snape had not been familiar with this spell, its effects may have convinced that him he had finally strayed into the afterlife.

As the memories flowed steadily into the wand, each was visible as a moving image for a fraction of a second. While it was extremely difficult to distinguish images from the stream of light, Severus was successful in discerning some of the memories, for he suddenly found himself considerably curious.

Warm smiles, furtive glances, shimmering brown eyes, gleeful laughter, and a wistful young face flashed before his eyes before disappearing into Slughorn's wand. Shards of snowy days, a green and silver scarf, mugs of butterbeer, bubbling cauldrons, a cup of tea, and a pale white hand gripping onto black cloth danced among images of the girl's maturation. While any glimpse of himself revealed an outwardly sullen professor, Miss Granger's eyes were always radiating life.

While Snape squinted his eyes tightly to perceive the images that were rapidly dissolving into blurs, it was not long before the stream of memories had ended, leaving the tip of Slughorn's wand glowing luminously.

Granger kept her eyes wholly fixated on Slughorn's wand as her friends continued to gawk silently at her. It was not entirely without pleasure that Snape noticed a deep red on Weasley's face that nearly rivaled his fiery locks. Shortly after this was noted, however, the dying professor's gaze was again captured by that aggravatingly intriguing girl as she cast him a sheepish smile. His lips attempted to curl up in response, but whatever the resulting expression appeared to be, Granger instantly flickered her gaze back to Slughorn, the blush deepening on her face.

Lowering the luminous wand, Slughorn bent over the cauldron that rested above small, azure flames. As he tilted the tip downward, the Potions master uttered " _Memoria effundo."_ A thick, glossy substance began oozing from the wand, its silvery hues shimmering with magic as it collected in the shallow bottom of the cauldron. All three students watched intently, seemingly enraptured by the memories' transformation. Granger appeared on the verge of asking a question, but she promptly bit her lip, aware that time was of the essence.

And time was indeed running out. Even though an unaccountable warmth had pervaded his body, Snape could acutely feel the venom permeating through his veins and recognized that death had finally arrived at his doorstep. His eyelids fell shut as his strength failed him, suddenly finding deep serenity in the black canvas that stretched endlessly before him. As the life within him began to fade rapidly, a peaceful lethargy enveloped his mind like a warm blanket. Melting into the blanket's folds, Severus felt all tension leave his body as a weightless sensation encompassed him. Peace had come at last.

As Snape drifted aimlessly through the silent, black void, his abstraction nearly prevented him from reconnecting to his body when a cold, metal sensation touched his lips. A wave of confusion and urgency washed over his lethargic mind, his instincts propelling him to withdraw, but his paralyzed body refusing to comply. It wasn't until a warm, bitter-tasting liquid slid down his throat that he was able to force his lids open to meet a pair of anxious eyes.

Brown eyes.

* * *

 _Fourteen years later…_

Thousands of glowing wax candles floated leisurely in the air, bathing the Great Hall in warm amber hues. The din of boisterous voices echoed off the ornate walls that stretched up to touch the star-speckled ceiling. Four long tables ran down the length of the large chamber, seating an excessive number of students on narrow wooden benches. No one seemed to mind the close quarters, however, as a pervading sense of excitement wafted through the air, depositing smiles upon every student's face.

At the end of the Great Hall, the High Table was crowded with every Hogwarts professor, displaying varying degrees of mirth or irritation at the lack of elbow room. The Sorting Ceremony and Start-of-Term Feast were among the only times that all professors chose to be present, considerably decreasing the comfort of the seating arrangements.

While it had been fourteen years since the Battle of Hogwarts, most of the original teachers continued in their positions. While the Wizarding School had lost some of its professors to retirement and had seen a number of new faces over the years, the lineup at the High Table was not glaringly different from the days of the great Harry Potter. It included, in fact, several close friends of the Boy Who Lived.

Professor Hermione Granger released a laugh as a knee collided with her own under the narrow wooden table. At thirty-three years of age, the girl had effectively blossomed into a woman, losing most of the childlike roundness in her face. Her eyebrows, once dark and bushy, had thinned out to give her face a more mature and sophisticated appearance. The eyes beneath the brows, however, had not changed.

Delight glistened in Hermione's large brown eyes as she watched her husband attempt to avoid the oversized elbow of a very effusive Hagrid. She could tell that Severus was attempting valiantly to retain his composure, but the half-giant's wide gestures were invading his uncommonly large personal bubble. While Snape's face remained mostly neutral, Hermione discerned his level of discomfort by his deepened scowl and slightly twitching left eye. Try as she might to look sympathetic, she could not suppress the laughter that his typical irritated expression was known to elicit.

"An' then they started eatin' each other's heads off!" Hagrid exclaimed with too much delight. As he continued to relay the fascinating details of his pet Skrewts, the jovial half-giant paid no mind to Snape's scowl, for he had long since grown accustomed to the man's sullenness and did not allow it to dampen his spirits.

"Ready for another year, Hermione?"

Turning from the humorous scene to the man on her other side, Hermione was met with Professor Neville Longbottom's genial grin. Having only served one full year as Hogwarts' Herbology teacher, the thirty-two year old wizard was still quite enthralled about sitting at the High Table. Hermione, having sat at the High Table for the past ten years as Charms professor, had grown quite accustomed to the novelty and found Neville's excitement amusing. "Of course," she replied. "I researched Containment Charms over the summer so I would be prepared to add them to the fourth years' curriculum. What about you?"

"Still kind of nervous," Neville admitted with a sheepish grin, casting a glance over the student-filled Hall. "I just want to do a good job, you know?"

"You were fine last year, Neville! My first year Gryffindors couldn't stop talking about your Mandrakes. I'm sure you'll do great," Hermione reassured him with a broad smile.

"Well of course _you_ would say that, Professor Granger," Neville responded with a laugh. "Your students love you!"

While there was always the occasional hostile Slytherin or arrogant Ravenclaw, most of the students truly did enjoy being taught by Professor Granger. With a vast store of knowledge and a friendly disposition, Hermione had quickly become a favorite when she first took the Charms position upon Professor Flitwick's retirement. Every class that she had instructed since then had received her warmly, even after discovering that she was married to the ever-sullen Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Many students believed she had refrained from assuming her husband's surname because she did not wish to be affiliated with the terror that it still struck into students' hearts, but this rumor was far from the truth. Hermione simply did not prefer the wordiness of "Professor Granger-Snape" and decided to keep her maiden name.

Before Hermione had the chance to respond, Neville's eyes expanded in remembrance. "Oh, right, I almost forgot! You must be really excited about –"

The ruckus in the Great Hall was suddenly silenced, cutting Professor Longbottom off mid-sentence. Every gaze flew to the opposite end of the Hall as the tall, heavy doors opened to reveal Hogwarts' new batch of first years. Students from all across the Hall craned their necks to get a better view of the line of children being lead down the aisle by Deputy Headmistress Vector.

Near the end of the line, situated between a tall auburn-haired girl and a poor blond, freckled boy who looked on the verge of wetting himself, strode a short eleven-year-old girl. With jet black curls bouncing as she walked, her brown eyes exuded confidence as she met the gazes of many curious students and ghosts. While several other first years dropped their heads to hide their crimson faces, her head remained level as she soaked in the excitement with dignity. Having grown up in the halls of Hogwarts, she certainly had an unfair advantage over the rest of the incoming students.

As the line of first years fanned out at the end of the Great Hall, the young girl's gaze flashed up to the High Table and locked onto her parents. Her enthusiastic smile was rewarded with an equally ecstatic grin from her mother and a more subtle curled lip from her father. Accepting both smiles as encouragement, for one could not expect to earn a full-blown grin from Snape in front of the student body, she turned around to face the huge, crowded Hall.

Now that the children were facing all of the students, soft whispers began to fill the chamber as various comments were being made about Hogwarts' new first-years. From the countless eyes that locked onto the head of black, untamable curls, it was evident that some students found fascination in the strange offspring of the Defense and Charms teachers. A few of their faces flashed with recognition as they recalled glimpses of a young girl wandering the halls during previous years. The ghosts likewise found themselves caught up in speculation about the first years, debating with their in-house compatriots and sending signals to ghosts at the other tables.

While Professor Vector carefully placed the Sorting Hat on its stool, the buzzing of the crowd diminished as younger students waited eagerly and older students attempted to stifle yawns. Quite a number of glances were thrown up to Professor Snape at the High Table, curious to see what degree of contempt he would wear at his own daughter's sorting.

While fourteen years had passed since his life had nearly ended, Professor Severus Snape remained virtually unchanged in appearance. His greasy, shoulder-length hair was still black as night, its choppy strands framing the scowl that was almost engraved on his face. Only a perceptive gaze could detect the minute changes that had occurred, including the tired eyes and conspicuous gut that crowned Snape fifty-two years old.

Snape wasn't allowed the pleasure of returning the students' glances with a penetrating glare, for as the Sorting Hat began singing, the Headmistress caught his attention. "You know, Severus," she whispered from the other side of Hagrid, perfectly certain that the half-giant was engrossed in the Sorting Hat's song. "If you had only accepted my offer of Deputy Headmaster, you could be watching your daughter's sorting from much closer," she observed.

"The view is fine from up here," was Snape's only response as he ignored McGonagall's frown. As Minerva turned back to minding her own business, Snape could only tolerate the Sorting Hat's song for a few notes before leaning over to Hermione. "You do realize that my daughter will be sorted into Slytherin," he murmured with a smirk, the stiffness of his shoulders relaxing slightly.

Hermione, tuning out the jolly strains of the Sorting Hat's latest composition, turned to her husband. As her hand rested upon the arm that sat rigidly on the table, her lips formed a grin that was equal parts delight and mischief. He was revisiting _that_ conversation again. "I believe you mean Gryffindor, Severus," she responded assuredly.

While Snape's features remained composed, there was a little twinkle in his eyes that Hermione had long since learned to recognize and love. "If I did, I would be forgetting all the resourceful ways she has tried to break curfew over the years," he responded simply. "Only a Slytherin would try mixing a Drowsiness Draught with Horklump juice to mask its taste in her father's tea."

Hermione's smile curved more into a Snape-worthy smirk as she formed her response. "But only a Gryffindor would have had the courage to take on Peeves at age two," she maintained.

"Yes, but she did not confront Peeves in a typical reckless Gryffindor fashion," Severus countered, placing particular emphasis on the word "reckless." "Luring him into a room and bombarding him from behind with bricks was quite clever for a toddler." His eyes and mouth were set in such a way that emanated great pride.

Hermione released an amused snort at the memory. "Oh, so she is more similar to you because she enjoyed throwing bricks?" she laughed, her voice rising slightly above a whisper. "So that is how the great Severus Snape spent his childhood, I suppose?" Crossing her arms over her maroon robes, she arched an eyebrow in a manner she could have learned from no other.

From the other side of Hermione, Neville couldn't help but eavesdrop on the odd couple's fascinating conversation. How those two loved to debate!

"Well it certainly wasn't how a two year-old Hermione Granger spent her time," he replied, only his black eyes relaying the pleasure he took in debating his wife. "Tell me dear, what over embellished Hogwarts history book were you reading at that age?" He raised an eyebrow loftily as the corner of his lips began to curl.

Hermione was on the verge of retorting when an echoing applause resounded, signaling the end of the Sorting Hat's song. Once the clapping had ceased, leaving only a few stray echoes in its wake, Hermione was able to add in one whispered "Gryffindor" to Severus before Professor Vector stepped forward.

"When I call your name, come up front and sit on the stool," she instructed, lifting up the Sorting Hat. At the gesture to the stool, the freckled boy appeared even closer to wetting himself. Meanwhile, other children exchanged giddy glances and bounced slightly on the balls of their feet. Several pairs of eyes dilated considerably when a roll of parchment appeared in Vector's hand, their awe betraying their unfamiliarity with magic. Others, however, appeared far less impressed, quite eager to have their next seven years determined.

Unrolling the parchment with her long fingernails, Vector cleared her voice and spoke. "Hugh Agnew."

As a lanky, nervous-looking boy approached the stool, Snape kept his eyes dispassionately fixed on the first-years as he muttered simply, "She will be a Slytherin."

"Gryffindor," was Hermione's instant response, her gaze likewise trained on the sorting.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat suddenly shouted, signaling the first sorting of the year. A table located on the inner right half of the Hall exploded with cheers as a new wizard was added to their ranks.

"Caroline Collins!" Professor Vector called once Hugh had left the front. After a tall, flaxen haired girl took her place on the stool and donned the hat, it took the Sorting Hat only a few seconds before deciding.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

With his hand at his chin, Snape's contemplative gaze fell upon the head of black curls in the line of first years. "Slytherin," he annunciated in a soft but crisp tone.

"Felicity Earl!" Professor Vector called, moving down the list.

Hermione's eyes left the petite auburn-haired girl that took the stool, turning her gaze to Severus' composed face. "And I say she will be Gryffindor," she informed him, an expanding grin betraying the stiffness of her tone.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting House echoed as it sorted Felicity.

Through the resounding applause in which Hermione participated to support her house, Snape remarked, "It is very unfortunate that you believe so, my dear, because I know how much you detest being proven wrong. But in this case I'm afraid there is no way around it," he remarked with a nonchalant shrug. A smirk tugged at his lips as Hermione's fingers tensed slightly, pleased that after twelve years of marriage he still possessed the power to get under her skin.

"Chester Hornblower!" was the next student to perch upon the sorting stool.

Bristling at his condescending tone, Hermione raised her chin in a manner she had not yet forgotten from her adolescence. "I will choose to ignore that remark, Severus, only to spare your ego excess humiliation when I am proven right."

"RAVENCLAW!"

As Snape purposely took his time in granting his wife a response, Neville quickly turned his eyes back to the sorting lest he be caught eavesdropping. Try as he might to tune their out their whispers, he found their conversation quite curious, for he had hardly ever witnessed an interaction that exhibited so much stubbornness without animosity. What proved even more peculiar was the warmth that shined through Snape's snarky remarks.

"Charity Lewis!" called Professor Vector as a small, freckled boy vacated the stool and headed for the cheering table.

"She has all the qualities of a Slytherin," Snape finally responded, his eyes once again meeting the back of his daughter's head. "If you so prefer a Gryffindor, perhaps you should have married Weasley." These words were spoken with such irony that no one could deny the great humor Snape found in the notion.

"RAVENCLAW!"

As a curly-haired blonde left to join the ever-growing Ravenclaw table, Hermione simply rolled her eyes at Snape's remark and decided to let it slide at the moment. She could make no promises, however, that the topic would not later be revisited in the confines of their quarters.

"Aubrey Ludgate!"

As Hermione's eyes followed a dark-haired girl up to the stool, she found it difficult to keep her attention on the ceremony when the child within her hated allowing Severus the last word. There was something particularly irksome about the half-smirk he wore that had not lost its vexing quality over the years. After a few moments of lip pursing and biting, she finally succumbed to the urge and again whispered to Snape, "Gryffindor."

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat announced as if in reply.

Snape joined in the applause of his house as he stoically celebrated the addition of another irksome student to his care. Once the clapping had ceased, he responded to her bait with a simple, "Slytherin."

"Alfie Marston!"

Hermione's wide brown eyes narrowed into determined slits as she turned her head to fully face Snape, abandoning all semblance of interest in the ceremony. "Gryffindor," she retorted firmly.

"SLYTHERIN!" was the next pronouncement to proceed from the Sorting Hat's fibrous lips.

As Snape's head turned slowly to meet Hermione's challenging glare, one eyebrow raised dangerously as he regarded her with his favorite "displeased professor" expression. "Slytherin," he uttered, his voice deep and his articulation precise.

"Arnold Pelse!"

" _Gryffindor!"_

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

" _Slytherin!"_

"Athena Snape!"

Silence immediately fell upon Severus and Hermione as they returned their eyes to the sorting, surprised to discover that their daughter had already arrived at the front of the line. Halting their dispute, both pairs of eyes locked keenly upon the eleven year-old girl, excitement and parental pride conquering their stubbornness. Not many parents were afforded the opportunity to witness their child's sorting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

While her brow was set in determination, Athena Snape could not deny the anxiety that she felt as she climbed atop the sorting stool. Even after the countless sortings she had witnessed between a door crack or from under a table, and even after receiving details of her parents' respective sortings through persistence and nagging, Athena found herself ill prepared as she sat before the four houses of Hogwarts, on the cusp of irrevocably joining one. Having the Head of Slytherin for a father and the Head of Gryffindor for a mother, she was far from ignorant about her parents' conflicting preferences for her house. And because they had spent the entire summer educating her on the advantages of their own house, she herself was undecided about her preferences.

It all hardly mattered, however, because no matter how many times Snape insisted that the Gryffindor brand of courage was glorified recklessness, and no matter how emphatically Hermione maintained that good Slytherins were still very rare, the final decision rested in the nonexistent hands of the Sorting Hat.

As soon as Professor Vector placed the Sorting Hat upon Athena's mess of ebony curls, it opened its mouth and exclaimed, "Ah, a Snape! I never thought I'd sort one of these again!" The surprise in its tone caused its voice to carry across the hall, capturing many students' interest and eliciting a few giggles. The mere mention of Snape had the power to rouse the nodding students who had rested their heads upon their hands in boredom.

The Sorting Hat took a few moments to contemplate before the fabric above its eye-like folds raised in astonishment. "Oh, and a Granger as well?" it asked curiously. "By Merlin, what a peculiar mix! The Head of Gryffindor and the Head of Slytherin!"

Many younger students who had not recognized Athena upon sight were now whispering amongst themselves, undoubtedly echoing the Sorting Hat's sentiments. While becoming slightly uncomfortable under their scrutiny, Athena had grown too accustomed to remarks about her peculiar parentage to be particularly bothered by them. Their whispers were drowned out by her rapid heartbeat as she anxiously awaited the Sorting Hat's decree.

As the Sorting Hat began a series of contemplative hums, it lowered its voice to be heard only by Athena. "Hmm…plenty of your mother's courage…but very cunning, I see! Clever, calculating…but also incredibly determined. My, my, what will I do with you?"

From under the Sorting Hat's broad brim Athena could barely see her parents from the corner of her eye. Impatience was etched upon their features, sinking particularly deep into the crevices that surrounded her father's scowl. Returning her gaze to the Hall, she realized that the whispering had ceased in anticipation of the Sorting Hat's verdict.

"You would do well in either house…" the sentient hat mused. "But…there's a certain quality about you that makes me say…GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table instantly erupted in applause upon the pronouncement. While some were merely pleased to have kept another student from the ranks of Slytherin, others were genuinely delighted to have Professor Granger's offspring in their house. A few cheers were likewise emitted from the High Table as Professor Longbottom displayed his enthusiasm in a vocal manner some teachers considered unprofessional.

While a huge smile adorned Athena's features as she hopped off the stool, she turned back her gaze to the High Table to gauge her parents' reactions.

With an enormous grin stretched across her face, Professor Granger beamed with pride as she clapped furiously, thrilled to have her daughter sorted into her own house. Wholly preoccupied by enthusiasm as she watched Athena take her place at the Gryffindor table, Hermione hardly noticed her husband's sullenness as he half-heartedly joined in the applause. And while Athena realized that her father was far less excited than her mother, her attention was soon summoned by a few Gryffindors who began introducing themselves.

Once Athena had settled comfortably between two chatty Gryffindors, the Sorting Ceremony continued. Because only a few unsorted first years remained, it was not long before the ceremony was finished, concluding with the sorting of Fred Weasley II and his cousin Molly Weasley II ("GRYFFINDOR!")

With all the first years interspersed among the house tables, the low buzzing of voices again filled the Great Hall as the students' mouths watered in anticipation of the feast. Many teachers likewise displayed an eagerness to begin supping, particularly Hagrid as he informed his neighboring colleagues about the extent of his hunger.

The volume of the students' murmuring voices and grumbling stomachs required Professor McGonagall to clear her throat quite loudly as she approached the shining, gold podium. After a few seconds the din faded away into silence as all eyes fixed upon the Headmistress.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts, students," she greeted in an authoritative yet warm tone. "Before the feast begins, I must introduce to you two new additions to the faculty." The low rumbling instantly returned as hundreds of eyes flew to the High Table, searching for the two unfamiliar faces that many had somehow overlooked. Raising her voice to be heard over the students, McGonagall continued, "But before I do that, I have a few announcements."

As Professor McGonagall gazed over her glasses at the students, the Hall again became silent. As a number of hungry students fidgeted impatiently in their seats, the Headmistress produced a small scroll and began reading.

"Mr. Filch would like to remind you that Muggle communication devices are strictly prohibited from the school grounds," she announced firmly. "This includes the small, rectangular objects called _Smarfones_. Last year's incident will _not_ be repeated." Eyes rising from the parchment, Professor McGonagall's penetrating gaze fixed sternly upon the Hufflepuff table. "In addition, students will no longer be asked to serve detention in the Forbidden Forest. As the forest is strictly off-limits, no student should ever need to set foot in it except during Care of Magical Creatures lessons. If any teacher requires this of you, come speak to me immediately."

Professor McGonagall's sober tone caused a number of students to exchange sidelong glances in varying degrees of confusion, curiosity, and disappointment. The serious atmosphere was soon dispelled, however, as the Headmistress' solemn features turned a little more pleasant. "Now to introduce our new teachers," she announced, a smile gracing her lips. Turning to the High Table, she gestured to a man seated between Professors Sinistra and Babbling. "First we have Professor Publius, our new Transfiguration teacher and Head of Hufflepuff."

The sea of students broke into another wave of applause, their motions growing languid as their red hands begged for reprieve. What their hands lacked in enthusiasm, however, was compensated for by many students' excited eyes, for new teachers were always a topic of interest at Hogwarts. Whispers issued from the Hufflepuff table as the yellow and black house scrutinized and theorized about their new Head of House.

As the applause diminished, Hermione leaned forward to see past Hagrid's enormous build and gain a better view of the new Transfiguration teacher. With a genial but slightly uncomfortable smile, Professor Gaylor Publius gave the students a small wave before leaning closer to Professor Sinistra. White chin-length hair framed his considerably aged features as he cupped his hand behind his ear, asking the Astronomy teacher to repeat her last comment.

No sooner had the applause for Professor Publius died away than Professor McGonagall proceeded to the next introduction. "And teaching Potions this year will be Professor Jareth," she announced.

At the other end of the High Table sat Professor Sydney Jareth, a middle-aged gentleman garbed in pea green robes. While not nearly as old as Professor Publius, his short brown hair and scanty beard were peppered with grey and his face bore a weathered quality. But kind blue eyes gave his hard features a genial air as he smiled widely at the wearily applauding students.

It was with great interest that Hermione joined the student body in observing the new Potions master. With Professor Slughorn having just retired, this Professor Jareth would certainly have some incredible shoes to fill, for Slughorn had been well liked among the students. While Snape would always hold the title of "best Potions master" in Hermione's estimation, she had been very fond of the old wizard and was saddened by his second and final retirement. Casting a glance at her husband, Hermione wondered how willingly he would accept this newcomer who professed to know Severus' craft, a field of study for which he had sustained a passion even after becoming the Defense teacher. All she received from Severus, however, was his customary scowl.

With both new teachers properly introduced and many stomachs audibly rumbling, Professor McGonagall deemed it the proper time to commence the Start-of-Term Feast. Raising her arms in a manner that was reminiscent of the late Albus Dumbledore, she declared, "Now let the feast begin!"

Hundreds of food-piled platters suddenly materialized on the tables, beckoning hungry children to begin hastily devouring every morsel within reach. As Hermione reached for a turkey leg, she turned her gaze to the Gryffindor table where Athena was spooning mashed potatoes onto her plate, excitement glistening in her eyes. The sight of her delighted daughter brought warmth to Hermione's heart as she placed her hand on top of Severus', eagerly anticipating the joys this new term was sure to bring.

* * *

 _Author's Note: And thus I have fallen deeper into the pit of Snanger by beginning my first SSHG fanfiction. Not that the pit of Snanger is an unhappy place, mind you. It is quite magnificent as you must know if you're here reading yet another Snanger fic._

 _Since this is an AU, there will be some slight differences from the books (besides the fact that our lovely Severus is alive and married to Hermione). You'll spot some in later chapters._

 _And worry not, the evolution of Snape and Hermione's relationship will be expounded. Such an anomaly as their marriage cannot occur without explanation._

 _Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I own nothing and no one. (If I did own Snape and Hermione though, they'd be chained up in my basement right now…)_


	2. The First Thread

Chapter 2 – The First Thread

Despite the lateness of the hour, Gryffindor Tower was still buzzing with activity when Professor Hermione Granger entered through the portrait hole. Pushing back the hair from her face, she paused for a moment to survey the common room. Most of the first years were congregated around a pile of luggage near the center of the room, either chatting with their friends or wading through heavy trunks to locate their belongings. A number of third years sat on one of the couches, performing harmless spells to celebrate the lift of the summer's magic prohibition.

After returning a greeting from third year Victoire Weasley, Hermione spotted her daughter curled up in an armchair, nose deep in a copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions._ A knowing smile spread across her face as she approached Athena, amused at the similarities that she and her daughter shared. "Hey, didn't you already read that over the summer?" she asked, taking a seat on the armrest.

"Yes, but there's no hurt in reviewing," Athena answered, raising her gaze from an illustration of bezoars. "Even though these are quite simple, I suppose," she added, thumbing through pages of step-by-step instructions. After a few seconds, she stopped on a page with a bright blue bottle. "Why is Cure for Boils even in here? Father taught me that three years ago."

Releasing a chuckle, Hermione responded, "Remember, Athena, not many students have the benefit of a former Potions master for a father."

"I know, it's a shame!" Athena observed in astonishment, her brown eyes expanding. "Molly told me that she's never even brewed a potion! Isn't that sad?"

"Then Percy and Audrey have been spared," Hermione responded with a laugh, highly amused at her daughter's keen interest in potions. When Severus had first introduced a four year old Athena to the "subtle science and exact art" of potion-making, Hermione had believed the girl's eager fascination to be a mere phase. However, after many years of dinners combined into strange concoctions, overflowing cauldrons, explosions, overturned jars of pickled slugs, and the accidental creation of a Flatulence Potion, the flustered mother realized that Athena's love of potions was there to stay. "Your poor father taught a _very_ interesting Defense lesson last year when that Flatulence Potion took effect."

"It was an accident," Athena responded sheepishly, her cheeks turning pink in embarrassment at the memory. "It was supposed to a Headache Healing Potion, but I _still_ don't know what went wrong."

"And somehow neither does your father," Hermione remarked with a chuckle, recalling her husband's frustration at the incident. Once she and Athena had shared a few moments of laughter, Hermione said, "Oh that reminds me, I have something for you."

Athena watched her mother curiously as Hermione opened her oversized book bag, waded through a few Charms textbooks, and produced a leather-bound tome.

"This is for you," Hermione told her, handing Athena the sizable book. "I know it's not required by Professor Binns, but I thought you might find it quite interesting. It was one of my favorite books for light reading when I was your age."

As she gazed down at the golden letters that formed _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery_ , Athena's eyes immediately lit up and flashed with an excitement that Hermione thoroughly recognized. "Thanks, Mum!" she exclaimed, eagerly flipping through the tawny-colored pages.

While Athena began studying an illustration of medieval cauldron structure, Hermione pulled out a narrow-necked jar from her bag. "Your father has something for you too," she said warmly, handing her daughter the jar.

Peering into the bulbous bottom of the jar, Athena released an astonished gasp as she spied three translucent, leaf-like objects. "Fairy wings!" she marveled. Her wide eyes raised to her mother's in delight for a moment before quickly flickering back to the jar, pressing her face against it to examine the delicate wings more closely. "Oh, how should I use them? A Girding Potion? Maybe a Beautification Potion? Ooh, or perhaps a Hiccoughing Solution!" Brown eyes glistened with excitement as the black-haired girl imagined all the possibilities for utilizing the rare potion ingredient. _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery_ lay open on her lap, quite forgotten.

While it was quite evident which gift Athena preferred, Hermione nonetheless found humor and delight in her daughter's enthusiasm over the potion ingredient. "Now don't forget to thank your father at breakfast tomorrow," she reminded gently.

Without taking her enormous brown eyes off the jar that was pressed up against her nose, Athena responded. "Oh, I won't! These are incredible! Just look at how they shine!" She began incessantly turning the jar around to examine the fairy wings at every possible angle, marveling at how the fireplace's soft glow reflected upon their lustrous surface.

Hermione released another chuckle at Athena's absorption before scanning the common room. Most of the first years had vacated the premises with their luggage, leaving the Tower more spacious. The spell-casting third years had likewise retired to their dormitories, leaving only a couple of snogging fifth years hidden in the corner. Suddenly noticing the absence of someone who rarely left her daughter's side, Hermione asked, "Where's Mookskin?"

"She's in my room with my stuff," Athena replied, her eyes still glued on the fairy wings.

Fifteen pounds of pure ginger fluff, Mookskin was a likely decedent of Crookshanks to which Athena had become quite attached. Since Crookshanks had impregnated many felines in his lifetime, there was no way to be sure that the kitten that appeared in Snape's office one day was indeed Crookshanks' offspring. But Athena's fast bond with the mangy fur ball, coupled with Hermione's love of cats, prevented Severus from turning it away, thus adopting Mookskin into the Snape household. After six years of inescapable fur clinging to his black robes, Hermione's vexed husband had been very willing to allow Athena to take Mookskin with her when she moved into a dormitory.

As the small, crackling flames in the fireplace began to slowly die, Hermione gazed up at the luminous clock above the mantel. "Well, speaking of your room, I think it's about time you go to bed," she told her daughter, glancing around at the nigh vacant common room.

Putting the fairy wing jar down for the first time since she had received it, Athena regarded her mother with disappointment. "Aw, Mum, do I have to?" she asked with a slight pout "I don't think I'll be able to sleep – I'm too excited for tomorrow! I hope I have Herbology first, some of the students say we might! Professor Longbottom is really nice, I'm sure it'll be great! I can't wait to – "

"You may not be living in our quarters anymore, but as your Head of House I can still see to it that you turn in at a decent hour," Hermione interrupted, adopting her "no-nonsense mother" tone. Despite the firmness in her voice, her eyes still emanated enjoyment.

"All right," Athena reluctantly agreed, casting one more wistful glance at her fairy wings before scooping up the jar and the book from her lap.

As the black-haired girl arose from the armchair and began towards the girls' dormitory, Hermione added, "And no looking at those wings in bed. I want you sleeping."

After muttering "rats!" under her breath, Athena obediently replied, "Yes, Mum!" before mounting the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

* * *

Releasing a yawn, Hermione pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered the apartment-like quarters she and her husband shared. With four and a half rooms, these quarters had been the home of the Snape family for little over a decade, bearing witness to all the joys, pains, and chaos that had arisen throughout the years. Located on the second floor, the comfortable apartment was adopted because Hermione refused to move into Severus' old quarters, claiming that the dungeons were not conducive to starting a family. She found their new living arrangements, featuring a bedroom, sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and child-sized bedroom, much more accommodating. Her husband, on the other hand, would always prefer the dark, musty solitude of the dungeons.

Weariness blurring her vision, Hermione failed to notice the peculiar neatness of the sitting room, giving no thought to the absence of potion ingredients, vials, books, and MagiColour Sticks. Moving on to the bedroom, she found the room warm and inviting as the soft fireplace glow illuminated the rich ruby tapestry and deep mahogany furniture. Upon the excessively blanketed bed (Hermione had an odd obsession with blankets) sat Severus with head bent in concentration over a large book, greasy black locks falling around his reading glasses.

"Well, Athena's in bed now," she informed him, moving over to the vanity. Snape only responded with a noncommittal grunt as his eyes remained fixed on his book, prompting Hermione to fill the silence with more observations. "She wanted to stay up and pore over those fairy wings though," she said with a laugh. As she began her nightly outpouring of thoughts, the brown-haired witch removed her maroon robes, revealing a crimson blazer paired with a flowy white blouse and a matching pencil skirt. "She's completely fascinated by them. Of course I can't understand what she finds so remarkable, but Potions never has been my absolute favorite study." After draping her robe on a nearby chair, she turned back to her husband and offered him a smile. "Must have been my insufferable Potions master," she said affectionately.

Severus' black eyes continued to scan the old pages of his book indifferently, awarding his wife's fond teasing with a disinterested "hmm."

Turning back to the mirror, Hermione grabbed her magic-imbued comb with a bittersweet smile. It was quite simple to discern that her husband was not in the best of moods, for under normal circumstances that comment would have elicited a snarky response. After a few moments of battling her untamable curls in silence, the comb's magic proving ineffective against her wild locks, she gazed at the wizard in the mirror and gently said, "Severus, I know you're upset that Athena's not a Slytherin."

Releasing a grunt, Snape finally lifted his eyes from the oversized book, gazing at Hermione over his thick-framed reading glasses. "I am not _upset_ ," he articulated firmly, a scowl appearing on his face. "I merely believe that her talents and personality are better suited for Slytherin."

Still attempting to win the battle against her curls, Hermione released a sigh. "I know you believe so, but I'm afraid you can't argue with the Sorting Hat…" she commented gently. A few teeth snapped off the comb as it snagged on a nest of tangles. "Though I suppose Harry did," she added thoughtfully after a moment. "But Athena seems happy in Gryffindor."

Returning his gaze to his book, Severus muttered obstinately, "Children seldom know what they truly need."

As her husband fell into one of his customary silent broodings, Hermione attempted to focus all her attention on the catastrophe that was her hair. As another few teeth snapped off the comb, she cursed herself for ever stepping out into the gentle September rain that evening. Discarding the comb's remains, she reached for a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, still trying valiantly to ignore that oh so irritating silence that Severus' sulking produced. His silent displeasure often proved more vexing than an unscratchable itch, prompting Hermione to break the tension with a sigh. "Oh come on, cheer up!" she exclaimed as she eyed Severus in the mirror. "I assure you that our next child will be Slytherin. I'll bribe the Sorting Hat if I need to." Her tone had suddenly lost its aggravation as a mischievous grin stretched across her features.

While Severus' eyes remained fixed on the pages of his book, he responded with an intrigued eyebrow raise. "And how would you accomplish such cunning with your bold Gryffindorish tendencies?" he asked incredulously.

Squeezing a dollop of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion into her hand, Hermione's lips curved into an amused grin. "Using the subtly that a certain Slytherin has taught me well, of course," she responded, her tone bearing the slightest sarcasm. Running her fingers through her tangles, she pondered for a moment. "But honestly, Severus, you know I am cleverer than you give me credit for," she stated, slight defiance in her voice. When her husband made no response, her eyes glistened with a challenge. "Need I name all the instances of my cunning that happened before you became my mentor? Perhaps we should start at the beginning, with Harry's first Quidditch match?"

Turning the page of his book, Snape released a grunt, perceptibly unwilling to delve that far back into history. "You have always shown more astuteness than is typical for Gryffindors, my dear," he responded calmly, rewarding Hermione with eye contact. Seeing that he had appeased his wife, he returned to his reading, a more comfortable silence filling the air. After a few minutes of Hermione accompanying her hair-taming with humming, Snape looked back up from his book. "How is Athena adjusting to the loud, rowdy chaos of Gryffindor?"

Hermione released a laugh at her husband's perception of Gryffindor, but decided to overlook his comment, knowing that no amount of eloquent protests could ever completely remove his prejudice against her house. "Fairly well I suppose, but it's too soon to tell," she replied. Satisfied with the potion's results on her hair, she closed the bottle and set it aside. "I found her alone studying."

Releasing an amused grunt, Severus commented, "She is very much her mother's daughter." Affection had begun to seep back into his tone, signaling the gradual improvement of his mood.

Brown eyes were again beaming as Hermione left the mirror and approached her husband. "But she shares her father's love of potions," she insisted fondly. As she curled up next to him on the bed, she was rewarded with a genuine smile from the very private and complicated man. Resting her head on his shoulder, she was admiring the softness of his new grey jim-jams when her gaze fell curiously to his book. "What are you reading?"

" _Medieval Methods of Child Discipline,"_ Snape responded simply, turning the page to reveal a picture of a boy hanging in chains from the ceiling.

Hermione's head shot up in alarm. "Severus, you don't plan to use those methods on Athena!"

Snape released an amused huff as he studied the picture. "Obviously not, she is far too advanced," he answered, his voice tinged with pride. "No, these are for my half-witted students." After scanning an extensive list of effective punishments, he raised his gaze to his curious wife, his black eyes glinting with artfulness. "Some of these methods would have proved _very_ useful on an insufferable know-it-all I once taught…" he commented in a deep, measured voice. "Flogging, for instance."

The mischievous aspect in her husband's demeanor earned a hearty laugh from Hermione. "What do you mean 'would have?'" she challenged, pushing against his arm playfully. "You employ that method from time to time."

"Do I?" A black eyebrow raised in feigned ignorance.

Hermione's grin grew impish as she brought her lips close to his ear. "Oh yes, your famous Flog and Snog," she murmured softly before planting a kiss beneath his ear. As her lips traveled down his neck, depositing feathery, teasing kisses upon his skin, she felt all tension leave the man's sturdy frame as he leaned back against the headboard.

"Well I can see that it hasn't curbed her know-it-all tendencies," he murmured in a husky voice, his body responding brilliantly to his wife's kisses. "You have learned far too much about me." Even as he shook his head, Severus leaned into her touch while the book fell from his hands, unable to resist her well-crafted weapon. The little know-it-all had discovered his weakness long ago and continued to exploit it, drawing from him such vulnerability that he never allowed under any other circumstance. Hermione had truly earned the privilege of viewing this side of him, for she had spent quite a while diligently exploring his likes and dislikes to determine the best method of stoking his fire.

Smiling against his skin, Hermione was very pleased at how effortlessly she could dispel his grumpiness with her tried-and-true technique. Halting the trail of kisses at his jawline, she reached up and slowly removed his reading glasses before planting a kiss on his cheek. "And I'm always eager to learn more, Severus," she whispered.

Now that Hermione's tantalizing kisses had become concentrated elsewhere, Severus was able to claim the dominance that he considered rightfully his. Scooping the woman into his arms as the book fell from his lap, he pushed her back into the pillows with a firm hand, pinning her underneath him as she sunk into the many layers of blankets. Seeing his own desire reflected in her large brown eyes, he leaned in to seize her lips in a heated kiss. Before he could make contact, however, he suddenly broke into a fit of coughing, emitting strange gagging noises that immediately dispelled the fire from Hermione's eyes.

Sitting up, Snape brought his hand to his mouth as he continued to cough. The giggles that bubbled within Hermione were impossible to restrain as she watched her husband forfeit his dignity to remove a short hair-like object from his tongue.

"Infernal cat!" Severus spat as he struggled to discard the fur from his finger. Closely examining the mound of blankets and pillows, he discovered with displeasure that there were innumerable clumps of fur still clinging to the fabric. "Its fur is still everywhere."

After releasing a few more giggles at the way Severus' features contorted with revulsion, Hermione too observed the blankets. "Eppy must not have come today. But no matter, I'm sure she'll come tomorrow," she dismissed with a shrug. While the witch had eventually learned to accept a house-elf's service, Hermione still felt very reluctant to request Eppy's labor, only allowing her to clean when she insisted upon it.

Responding with a disinterested grunt, Snape's eyes returned to his wife as his revulsion was readily replaced by previous, more pleasurable feelings. "Now where were we?" he murmured in a deep, sultry voice as he arms snaked around her back.

Much to Severus' dismay, Hermione scooted out of her husband's grasp with a merry laugh. "Sorry, Severus, I'm afraid your vile hacking has ruined the mood." Before he had the chance to form his protesting groan into words, she had left the bed and was heading towards the wardrobe in the corner of the room. "Besides, I'm quite knackered and I still need to bathe." As she threw open the wardrobe doors and retrieved a nightdress, the sound of rustling blankets caused her to look back and find her husband halfway out of bed. "And no, you cannot join me," she stated resolutely.

"And why ever not?" Snape countered with a raised brow as he paused on the edge of the bed.

"Because of that comment you made about Ron at the Sorting Ceremony," Hermione responded with an impudent huff, folding her arms across her chest. "Keep reading your book on medieval discipline, but know that know-it-alls aren't the only ones in need of correction. Arrogant old professors sometimes need to be punished as well."

While Hermione's tone was quite disdainful, an amused twinkle in her eye told her husband that she was not truly vexed with him. But Severus decided to respect her desire for privacy, knowing that any insisting would result in a genuinely aggravated witch, something that he did not wish to encounter at such a late hour. "As you wish," he relented, returning to recline on the bed. Retrieving the book from the floor, Snape delved back into the wonders of medieval discipline as Hermione left the room.

* * *

Fresh morning light streamed through the tall, arching windows of the Great Hall as hundreds of drowsy students filed in for breakfast. From the considerably less crowded High Table, Hermione spotted the black curls of Athena amidst a group of energetic first years that bounced happily past the dragging feet of older students. As Hermione watched her daughter seat herself at the Gryffindor table beside Molly Weasley, the excitement in her daughter's eyes transported the mother back to the unbounded exhilaration she had experienced on her very first day of lessons.

"Athena looks really excited," Neville commented from the seat at Hermione's right. With a large, steaming bowl of porridge before him, the Herbology professor gave his friend a smile before eagerly plunging a spoon into his breakfast.

"Well of course, it's her first day of lessons," Hermione replied cheerfully as she cut into her eggs. "She's been eagerly awaiting this day her whole life."

After downing a swig of pumpkin juice, Neville observed, "I can imagine so since she has practically grown up here."

Professor Granger's wide grin became tinged with the slightest exasperation as she released a chuckle. "Yes, it's been quite a challenge to keep her out of the classrooms during lessons – she's so eager to learn. It was nearly impossible to stop her from sneaking into Slughorn's classes. Why, you remember that incident last year…"

Before Hermione and Neville could reminisce about the time Slughorn purposefully ignored the thud he heard from his supply cupboard, Snape appeared at his customary spot, long black robes billowing as he halted his brisk pace. While his manner seemed slightly more agitated than usual, his face remained indifferent as he took a seat beside his wife.

Discerning that her husband was irked, Hermione began pouring Severus a cup of his favorite pumpkin tea as she curiously observed his face. "Where have you been?" she inquired, offering him the steaming beverage.

"I was detained," Snape answered simply, bringing the cup to his lips. After a few seconds of careful sipping, he placed the cup back on its saucer and elaborated. " _Mr. Lupin_ tried very unsuccessfully to cast _'cantis'_ on me in the corridor – a ridiculous bit of wand waving that has earned him a month's worth of detention."

While Hermione knew it best to conceal her laughter with a sip of tea when Snape appeared agitated, Neville was not as perceptive and allowed his chuckles to be audible. One poisonous glare from Professor Snape, however, rectified his behavior, sending him anxiously in search for another piece of toast. While many years had passed since Snape had been Neville's teacher, the poor man was still quite uneasy around him, causing him to nearly spill his pumpkin juice as he reached for the plate of toast.

Once Hermione had composed herself enough to not exasperate her husband, she placed her cup down and wiped her mouth. "Isn't a month a bit much?" she asked, a smile still on her lips. "I'm sure Teddy didn't mean any harm, and he didn't even cast the spell."

Crossing his arms resolutely across his chest, Severus simply replied, "His antics have been insupportable these last few years and I will not allow them to continue." After bringing the teacup to his lips and taking a few sips, his shoulders visibly relaxed as he set the cup down. "I have a few dozen barrels of newts that need their eyes removed and I've heard that Peeves recently flooded the boys' restroom on the fifth floor. That should keep him occupied for a while."

Returning her attention to her breakfast, Hermione decided it best not to argue. Much like his old prejudice against Harry, Severus disliked the son of Remus Lupin and seized every opportunity to display that antipathy. Hermione on the other hand saw nothing more than boyish mischief in Teddy and attempted to rein in her husband when his punishments became too excessive. She decided to let this instance go, however, for cleaning excrement-covered toilets paled in comparison to other detentions Snape had tried to assign the Hufflepuff boy.

After taking a bite of her eggs, Hermione raised her gaze to find an identical pair of brown eyes glistening at her. Athena was standing on the other side of the table, casting the Headmistress a nervous glance before returning her attention to her parents.

"Good morning," the eleven year-old girl greeted cheerfully.

As Hermione returned the greeting simultaneously with Severus, she observed her daughter's appearance with particular interest. With long black curls swept partially back out of her eyes and her new uniform donned, Athena looked quite different and a little more grown up than her parents were comfortable with. Nevertheless the sight made both Severus and Hermione proud.

A grin spread across Hermione's face as she noticed with amusement that while the girl wore her Gryffindor sweater with pride, it was slightly too large for her and was covered in cat fur. "How did you sleep last night?" the mother asked her daughter.

"Pretty well," Athena replied with a shrug. Then, turning to Snape she added, "I share a room with Molly and some other girls and none of them snore like you, Father." The girl smiled cheekily at her father as he calmly sipped his tea.

"Do not forget, Athena," Snape began seriously, the teacup clinking against the saucer as it was set down. "Not only can I still ground you, but I now have the power to give you detention."

"Oh, and you wouldn't want that," Hermione emphasized. "He just assigned a month of toilet cleaning to Teddy Lupin."

Athena brushed a stray curl from her eyes and smiled confidently at her father. "I'm not worried," she stated, locking her hands behind her back and teetering on the balls of her feet. The young girl shared her mother's gift of perceiving when her father was truly serious, and by the current curl of his lip she knew him to be simply teasing.

"Of course not, a Snape would never incur detention," Severus stated definitively. After pausing for a moment to obtain a piece of toast, he added, "But you do have some Granger blood in you, which I am afraid may just be enough to land you in detention one of these days."

As her mother rolled her eyes, Athena responded with laughter that was perhaps too high-pitched for some of the teachers' ears. After receiving a few stares from Professor Publius and Madam Pomfrey, the girl quickly curbed her laughter and turned back to her parents. "Anyway, I just want to thank you for the fairy wings, Father," she said in a voice that was softer but still enthusiastic. "I can't wait to use them!"

"They have been sitting in my office for far too long and I figured you would appreciate them," Snape explained, offering his daughter a small but warm smile. "But take care not to waste them on some silly potion. Use them wisely, for fairy wings are difficult to obtain." The smile receded into a straight line as he adopted his typical professor attitude.

"Yes, sir," Athena responded brightly.

Dabbing her lips with a napkin, Hermione said, "Well you should get to eating now. You wouldn't want to be late to your first class, would you?"

Athena's eyes immediately expanded as she glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that breakfast was nearly half over. "No, definitely not to Herbology!" she exclaimed. While she began to turn around briskly, she suddenly paused for a moment, wearing a look of hesitance. Both parents observed the girl curiously until she finally glanced up, blurted, "Good morning, Professor Longbottom!" and scurried away.

Severus and Hermione were in the process of exchanging confused looks when their attention was drawn elsewhere. Athena had not gotten far in her hasty retreat before she collided with Professor Jareth on his way to the staff table. The girl's momentum caused the impact to be quite forceful, knocking her nearly off her feet before the professor steadied her. Wide eyed and red faced, the girl hastily sputtered out an apology, scampering away before the wizard could assure her that he was at fault. Professor Jareth just chuckled and made his way to the High Table for breakfast.

"That was odd," Snape remarked with a scowl. "It seems that Gryffindor has already begun influencing her." His gaze lingered on his daughter for a few moments longer before he turned back to his toast.

"Don't be silly, Severus," Hermione dismissed. Glancing over at Neville, who after returning Athena's greeting had continued eating, Professor Granger confirmed that he was occupied with his porridge before turning back to her husband. "She's just quite taken with Neville," she whispered, leaning closer to Severus. "Most of the students are, you know, but poor Neville seems to be unware of this."

Snape cast an indiscreetly disgusted glance at the Herbology professor, a look that would have certainly disconcerted the young man if he had not been busy wiping stray porridge off his nose. "She is much too young to fill her head with such notions," Severus stated sternly.

"Oh, I'm not worried," Hermione responded with a shrug. "School girl crushes are as common as they are fleeting."

As his wife took another bite of her eggs, Severus observed her intensely, concerned by the casualness of her tone. "Unless she happens to be like her mother," he countered.

Before Hermione could swallow her eggs and respond, hundreds of owls suddenly came soaring in through the open windows, loud hoots intermingling with the students' excited babble. Many of the owls carried large parcels in their talons, a sight that was quite common for the second day of term. Parents of first years were apt to send large care packages to their children until they felt certain their offspring could survive without them. Other parcels most likely contained items that students forgot at home; and by Teddy Lupin's groan at unwrapping a pair of broomstick-covered underwear, one could assume that some items were purposefully forgotten.

As owls continued to swoop down and deliver packages to their masters, the Snape family's tawny owl alighted on the High Table, landing in the remains of Hermione's scrambled eggs. After delivering to his peeved mistress a few letters and a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , the feathered creature claimed a few bits of egg as compensation and flew off.

Perusing the letters, Hermione found them all addressed to "Professor Severus Snape" and handed them to her husband. As she began contemplating with frustration how it had been two months since she had last heard from Ron or Harry, Professor Granger suddenly noticed that the students' excited babble had been replaced with gasps and distraught exclamations. Sensing distress, she jolted her head up to behold a sea of open _Prophets_ and startled faces. By the time Severus had glanced up from his mail and noticed the commotion, Hermione had already seized the newspaper and was unfolding it.

In the middle of the front page set in a gaudy extra bold typeface were the words "DEATH EATERS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN!" Below the text was an image so large that it bled off the sides of the page, depicting a very haggard looking Lucius Malfoy.

Throwing her husband a concerned glance, Hermione pulled the paper closer and began reading aloud.

" _The Ministry of Magic has confirmed that a breakout occurred at Azkaban last night, resulting in the escape of six Death Eaters. Head Guard Argo Gladwatch reported observing nothing out of the ordinary until this morning when six cells were found empty. While it is unknown how the Death Eaters escaped, there is strong evidence to support that former Ministry employee Lucius Malfoy has assumed a position of leadership among them. Although their motives remain unclear, one can only infer that these malevolent former servants of the Dark Lord are on an errand of evil. While fifteen years have passed since the last Azkaban breakout, the Ministry has again proven incapable of detaining the Death Eaters and ensuring the safety of the wizarding world. Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt has yet to announce what measures will be taken to recapture these criminals, but many feel it critical that the Ministry provide greater protection to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Rumors have been circulating that Malfoy, infamous hater of half-bloods and Muggle-borns, may be on the warpath."_

* * *

 _ **Author's note:**_ _Let me clarify that imprisoning Lucius Malfoy is part of my AU. I understand that he was spared imprisonment in the canon for ultimately leaving Voldemort, but in my view his crimes with the Death Eaters may have been too large to pardon. (But I just want to run my fingers through his soft luscious locks!) Then why is Snape not imprisoned as well? Well, my good sir, that shall eventually be revealed…_

 _Yeah I know this chapter was pretty heavy on the Snanger fluff, which may not mean as much because the evolution of their relationship has yet to be explained. But be patient, I will soon begin to delve into their past. And do not worry, things will not always be so "rainbows and unicorns" between them. Excrement is about to make physical contact with a hydro-electric powered oscillating air current distribution device…_


	3. Miss Snape

Chapter 3 – Miss Snape

The musty air, dim lighting, and utter solitude were like a comfortable blanket around Severus Snape as he sat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, preparing for his first lesson. Knowing that the blissful silence would soon be ousted by the predictably rowdy first year class, the professor reveled in the last few moments of quietude as he scribbled notes in his worn teachers' copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection._ The candlelight flickered intriguingly upon the book across Severus' favorite illustration of a Hag devouring children, a picture he had enlarged and displayed on the wall specifically for his first years. He preferred to have at least one gruesome picture relating to each year's curriculum, a technique he found adequate in instilling an appropriate amount of fear in his students' hearts.

Laying down his quill pen, Snape raised his gaze to the silent, empty chamber, expecting the door to soon open and unleash oblivious little Gryffindors and Slytherins into his classroom. Following his practices as Potions master, the Defense teacher had combined Gryffindors and Slytherins into one class, finding that the raw cunning, be it rather undeveloped, of his own House helped balance the aggravating boisterousness of the Gryffindors. While it was true that only he and Minerva possessed the talent of commanding silence in a classroom, in each class there was at least one insolent student who enjoyed challenging the professor's rules. Depending on Snape's mood, this either amused the professor who enjoyed detracting points and dealing out detentions, or it assaulted the bridge of his hooked nose with a throbbing headache. Bringing a hand to his forehead, he believed that today it would be the latter.

When the heavy doors did open a few moments later, the silence was oddly not shattered by the shrill tones of prepubescent voices. Closing his tattered textbook, Snape lifted his eyes to find his wife entering the classroom. Dressed in a pale blue frock, Hermione looked particularly out of place in the dark, gloomy chamber.

"Professor McGonagall has summoned us to a staff meeting tonight," Hermione informed her husband, walking down the aisle towards his desk.

"About the news, no doubt," Severus commented disinterestedly. Reaching over a stack of parchment, he grabbed his copy of _Resisting the Darkness_ and began perusing its note-scribbled pages. "All right, I'll be there," he responded, believing her finished and sorely wishing to complete his preparation before the students arrived.

Hermione observed her husband for a moment as he began scribbling elegantly in the margins, noting how the candlelight illuminated the lines on his face, rendering him quite haggard-looking. "Are you okay? You seemed quite…" She trailed off as her eyes wandered to the chalkboard and noticed the words written in Severus' sophisticated hand: _"Students are strictly prohibited from casting any spells unless required by the teacher. For any fools who wish to disobey this rule, know that I will not be held responsible, nor will I concern myself with any mutilation that may result."_ Returning her gaze to the wizard, she finished, "…bothered this morning."

Indifference fell upon Severus' tired eyes as his gaze rose to Hermione. "I merely believe the Daily Prophet has again exaggerated the facts," he stated simply, steepling his fingers over the book. "It seems doubtful that Lucius would launch an open attack against Hogwarts. Even with the remaining Death Eaters, he would simply not have enough power to do so."

Resting her hands on Severus' desk, Hermione continued to study her husband, intrigued by how unconcerned he now appeared when he had exited the Hall that morning in a less than placid manner. Moving behind his chair, she placed a gentle hand on his taut shoulder and asked, "You were fairly close to Lucius, weren't you? Do you have any idea what he may be up to?" After many years with Severus, the witch had learnt to be very delicate when discussing the past, for her regret-filled husband did not enjoy dwelling upon the darkness that was behind him.

Knowing that his perceptive wife had discovered the tension he was attempting to conceal in his shoulders, Severus allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. Only after Hermione had begun massaging his shoulders did he finally reply. "No one can know for sure, but he is certainly not the next Dark Lord as the _Daily Prophet_ seems to be suggesting." The poor professor found it quite difficult to keep his voice appropriately firm for the subject matter when his body was relaxing considerably under his wife's touch. "He still has a family whom he loves, so he may very well attempt to contact Draco and Narcissa." Finished with his statement, he allowed his body to rock back and forth for a moment as Hermione kneaded his shoulders, feeling all tension leave his body but that which he deeply concealed.

Satisfied with her success in improving Severus' spirits, Hermione rested her chin atop his greasy black hair and looked over his work. While he was normally an orderly person, his desk was currently littered with numerous pages of notes and illustrations of various dark creatures. Amidst the chaos sat a jar with a floating object that significantly resembled a shrunken imp brain. Hermione could only fathom how her husband was going to use that in a first year Defense class. "You have Athena's class soon, don't you?" she asked at length, her tired fingers coming to a halt.

"In a few minutes," Snape replied, opening the eyelids that must have fallen closed during Hermione's massage. Reaching up, he enveloped the hand on his shoulder with his own.

While calloused, familiar, and slightly weathered, Severus' hand provided great warmth to Hermione, for it was through his hands that he most often showed affection. As her husband returned to perusing his notes, Hermione's lips curved into a grin. "This is only her second class, so do try not to embarrass her," she requested, her earnestness softened by a tinge of humor so as not to insult him.

Tilting his head back, Severus met his wife's brown eyes in surprise. "Embarrass her? And how would I ever do that?"

Uncertain if Snape was genuinely confused or just teasing her, Hermione slid into his lap with a laugh. "Oh, I don't know…" she began. Situating herself comfortably on his legs, she started counting off on her fingers as she spoke. "Refusing to call on her, criticizing her in front of the class, taking points from Gryffindor for no reason, making rude insinuations about her teeth…"

"Merlin, you never do forget, do you?" Severus interrupted, a genuine smile complimenting his features handsomely.

"No, sir, I do not," Hermione replied in a lofty tone, folding her arms across her chest.

Thus began another typical argument between Severus and Hermione. While most trivial disputes were laced with laughter, sarcasm, and witticism, it hadn't always been that way in the Snape household. When they were first married, arguments were usually never taken so lightly, even when the subject matter was inconsequential. With stubbornness and arrogance reigning in both parties, silly disagreements quickly grew into heated debates. While Severus hardly raised the volume of his seething tones, Hermione was known to shout rather loudly. Whether it was her loud voice or the portraits' gossip that spread their arguments across the castle, somehow the couple could never keep their disputes private. As the years passed, however, they learned to make light of trivial disagreements and enjoy a bit of verbal sparring once in a while.

Severus' arms snaked around his wife's waist and pulled her against his body. Pleased with his position of power, he allowed his breath to tickle her neck as he brought his lips close to her, attempting to keep her unruly curls from entering his mouth. "I believe that only compensates for everything you've done to me, Miss Granger," he murmured, enjoying how she squirmed when he referred to her as he once always did.

While her husband's teasing was indeed pleasant, the allocations made against her prompted Hermione to resist his grasp and sit upright. "Me? Why, I've been perfectly civil to you my whole life!" she maintained innocently.

Letting his arms fall to his side, Severus adopted a rather peeved expression as he responded. "Oh you have, have you? Is igniting your professor's robes how you show civility then?" Any amusement he took from the conversation was successfully concealed under the driest of tones.

"You still have no proof that was me."

While a smile reappeared on Snape's features, it was a very cynical lip curl that he typically reserved for troublesome students. "Besides the fact that you _admitted_ _to it_ on our wedding night, I found your magical fingerprint on my robe years ago," he stated definitively. As his wife grappled for a response, he glanced up at the clock to discover that it was nearly time for class to begin. "Now I'm afraid you must leave, my dear," he stated, shifting in his seat. "The students may walk in at any moment."

"Oh, and of course they can't catch you like _this_ ," Hermione laughed, finding Severus' private nature currently quite amusing. She too would have considered the situation embarrassing if her own class found her and Severus in such a manner, but she could only imagine the mortification that would befall her husband – mortification he would attempt to hide behind anger or cold vindictiveness. Just the thought of such a scene was enough to draw giggles from the witch. "You know, it's quite funny how shocked the first years always are when they learn that we're married," she observed.

"It is not our marriage that I wish to conceal, Hermione. There are just certain sides of me that no one but you need ever witness," Severus explained. The earnestness with which he spoke touched Hermione, for as much as she enjoyed their playful banter, she greatly appreciated when her husband opened up to her. "They've undoubtedly heard rumors about the 'dreaded defense professor' or 'black bat' or whatever _endearment_ they're calling me these days, and I dare not disappoint." And in an instant the openness that his wife adored had been replaced by sarcasm. "I have a reputation I must live up to, after all." Rising from his chair, he eased Hermione off his lap.

"I suppose I must go then," Hermione acquiesced, steadying herself on her feet. Making her way around the desk, the witch crossed half of the classroom before turning back to her husband. "But remember what I said about Athena." The smile faded into a stern line, reminding Severus that while she had enjoyed a good laugh with him, she was still quite serious about her request.

Severus matched his wife's expression, the many lines on his face rendering it much more effective than Hermione's. "She will not get special treatment, but I will try to refrain from any actions that may embarrass her," he responded, sitting back down. Only after Hermione broke into a smile did he allow his features to soften.

Thanking her husband for his cooperation, Hermione exited the classroom, the shutting door producing echoes throughout the chamber.

Once the echoes had dissipated, the classroom was only allowed a few moments of silence before the door again opened, admitting around twenty first year students into the dimly lit chamber. Loud voices faded into soft whispers and laughter was immediately choked as each student entered. Soon nothing but shuffling feet reverberated across the dismal room as the children hurried to find a seat, Gryffindors congregating on the left and Slytherins on the right. Nervous glances were thrown to the macabre paintings that lined the walls. A feeling of dread pervaded the air as the students waited silently in the candlelit classroom. All this while Professor Snape sat utterly still with his head bent over a book, the orange glow casting eerie shadows upon his scowling face.

After a while when Snape deemed his students effectively intimidated, he finally cast his steely black gaze upon them as he rose from his chair. Without any form of pointless introduction, he began. "The Dark Arts are a formidable, ever-evolving, and often incomprehensible force that can never be driven out from the world, regardless of how many 'chosen ones' are placed upon this earth to vanquish it." Speaking in a slick and articulate voice, he began sweeping slowly down the aisles. "But most importantly, the Dark Arts are ruthlessly insidious. While some dark creatures are overtly wicked, the darkest of the arts will not appear so. No, they will appear more beautiful than the purest of magic, and they will do everything in their immense power to entice you. Only after you have fallen prey to their ploy will they reveal their true blood-soaked form, but you will no longer be able to resist, for their grasp is unyielding. The road into darkness is not a swift journey, but it is inconspicuous, undeviating, and self-damning. There are but few who ever return from that road."

The last crisp consonant was punctuated with utter silence as twenty pairs of eyes gazed at the professor in rapt attention. Scanning the students, Snape detected varying degrees of nervousness or uncertainty in nearly every set of eyes. Some even appeared considerably frightened. While there were no Hufflepuffs in the class, greatly lowering Snape's chance of bringing a student to tears, there was something undeniably pleasing about the fear he encountered. In his estimation, it was a sure indication that he performing his job excellently.

Locating his daughter in the middle row beside the two Weasley cousins, Snape detected a different sort of emotion that was difficult to pinpoint. While the other students were undoubtedly familiar with the Second Wizarding War, and likewise knew the part he had played, his own daughter could discern the hidden meaning behind words she had heard countless times. Though he hated to discuss his mistakes, he had not spared her the truth about his past, for it was best that she not be under any illusions about the world in which they lived. Her understanding was reflected in eyes that appeared both sorrowful and determined.

Gliding back to the front of the class, Professor Snape stopped behind his desk and held up _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection._ "That is why we will not waste our time devoting an entire year to the contents of just one book," he announced, setting down the text. "First year students need to be prepared to encounter more than just Gnomes and Gargoyles, for the darkness will pay no mind to your age when it attacks. Therefore, you will also be required to learn from _Resisting the Darkness._ "

As Snape held up the second textbook, a thick volume that he personally preferred, a number of eyes expanded in surprise. A few frantic whispers were suddenly exchanged, emanating from students who had only one textbook before them.

Noticing the obvious unpreparedness of some of his students, Snape's stern lips fell into a disapproving scowl. Lowering his arm, the book landed upon his desk with a loud thud, silencing the whispers. "If any of you are not willing to commit these texts to memory before beginning practical application, I suggest you take the train home tonight. Negligence will not be tolerated in my classroom." His annunciation had grown impeccably clear as his tone hardened with severity. After glaring down his hooked nose at two Gryffindor boys who appeared to be missing their second textbook, his posture relaxed slightly as he turned to the rest of the class. "Now before we begin, you have the opportunity to ask any questions you may have. This opportunity it not given often, so I suggest you make use of it now."

Silence again followed the deep, silky timbre of the professor's voice. While a number of students seemed to be contemplating questions, they all appeared hesitant, unwilling to be the first to speak. Even Athena's hand remained down as her eyes wandered from classmate to classmate. Just as Snape was about to deem them his quietest first year class in a while, priding himself on how effectively he had muted them, a Slytherin boy raised his hand. Having Snape as his Head of House, Alfie Marston appeared to possess enough confidence to ask the first question.

A dozen other questions then followed suit, covering areas such as class topics, dark creatures, expected homework, and the like. Snape answered all of the questions in very indirect ways, unwilling to over-enlighten his students on what he had planned for the year. It was not until he called on Gryffindor Felicity Earl that he was posed a highly different, but very familiar question.

"Sir, is it really true that you're married to Hermione Granger?" The inquiry was not made with the timidity customary of a first year, but was posed in a manner quite like a presumptuous busybody.

As Snape was preparing to answer the posterchild for all the Gryffindorish qualities he despised, the girl beside Felicity turned to her. "Of course he is, that's their daughter!" Cecelia Attwater exclaimed in a loud whisper, pointing indiscreetly at Athena.

While all eyes were momentarily drawn to the Snape offspring, the students soon turned their attention to their professor to gauge his reaction. Professor Snape stood before them with unperturbable composure as he glared fixedly at the offending student. "Let me see, that'll be ten points from Gryffindor for an irrelevant question…" he began disinterestedly, counting on a finger. "And ten points for disrespecting a teacher. You will refer to my wife as _Professor_ Granger."

Ignoring the groans that emanated from Gryffindors not yet accustomed to losing House points to their Defense teacher, Snape again began slowly pacing the room. "Now turn to page twenty-three in your _Guide to Self-Protection,_ " he instructed the class, stopping behind a roguish-looking Gryffindor to ensure he obeyed. "The book begins with a chapter on treating werewolf bites, but let me make one thing perfectly clear: there is no way to _cure_ lycanthropy. Once bitten by a werewolf, the victim will irrevocably contract the infection and transform into a werewolf every full – do keep the contents of your nose off the desks, Mr. Blackwood."

Twenty or so heads turned to find a heavyset Slytherin boy shoving his hand into his robe with a scowl.

Continuing to glide around the classroom, Snape was engaged in more than simple lecturing; with the Slytherin subtlety for which he was famous, the professor was assessing his new batch of students, determining the character of each with his keen perceptiveness. Such was a common practice for the first lesson of term, for it allowed him to ascertain which students would require the most correction and trigger the most headaches. "If you would rather live with lycanthropy than die, however, there are certain methods to treat the bite wound itself," he continued, casting a glance over the very dissimilar Weasley cousins. "A mixture of powdered silver and dittany will prevent further blood loss and heal the wound. There are those, however, who refuse the treatment, for they would rather die than live the miserable existence of werewolf."

Snape allowed his words to hang gravely in the air as he returned to the front of the classroom. Acquiring a piece of chalk, he began to write " _lycanthropy"_ on the chalkboardbeside his warning about inappropriate spellcasting. Then, turning back to the class, he continued. "There are also ways to mitigate the savage insanity that comes with monthly transformations. Can anyone here name such a treatment?"

As he waited for an answer from the silent classroom, Snape turned again to the blackboard and wrote _"powdered silver and dittany"_ on its surface. His hand movements were deliberately slow as his lips curled upward, for he knew that his daughter's hand was certainly high in the air, waiting impatiently to be called upon. Yes, he would call on her, but he would at least make her wait a few moments before giving her that pleasure.

As Snape turned back to face his students, the curve of his lips immediately fell into a frown as he was met with a sea of confused faces. Not one hand was in the air. But what was perhaps even more surprising was that Athena's head was lowered and she was deliberately avoiding eye contact with her father and professor.

Setting his surprised features back into customary order, Snape once again took to pacing. "No one, I see," he commented, disappointment thick in his voice. As he slinked around the chamber his eyes constantly returned to his daughter, for while he was a perceptive judge of character, her actions currently eluded him. He was absolutely certain she knew the answer, for he had once fed her hunger for potions knowledge with information on the Wolfsbane Potion. With an extensive notebook dedicated to her findings, Athena was not one to forget facts about potions.

When at length Snape paused in the aisle by his daughter, he found no alteration in her behavior. Her eyes remained resolutely glued upon the pages of her textbook. After waiting a few more seconds with no response, the professor spoke. "Miss Snape, perhaps you know?"

A chorus of giggles and snickers followed Snape's question as the first years forfeited their fear of the professor to their amusement. For students whose parents or older siblings had attended Hogwarts and had relayed tales of the dreaded and highly greasy professor, the name "Miss Snape" sounded hilariously odd to them. All laughter was subsequently swallowed, however, when Snape cast a warning glance upon them.

Once the chamber had ceased echoing the children's giggles, Athena raised her head to meet her father's gaze. Her face was tinted crimson and her eyes displayed an odd sort of hesitance. "Yes, sir, it's uh…" she began, eyes darting around as if unable to maintain eye contact. Then, clearing her throat, she hastily delivered the remainder of her answer. "The Wolfsbane Potion allows the werewolf to retain control of his mental faculties after he transforms. It's quite difficult to make though." Her brown eyes returned to her textbook, seemingly captivated by a smudge in one of the margins.

Athena's peculiar way of answering his question served to further puzzle the Defense teacher. The girl's voice held none of its usual "know-it-all" confidence that she used to spout off facts, but was perceptibly tentative and uncomfortable. "Correct. Five points to Gryffindor," Snape said. While the scowl had diminished from his face, the man still appeared far from pleased as he swept back up to his desk.

* * *

 _Author's note: I had planned to add another two scenes to this chapter, but since they're both long, I'll save them for chapter 4. Don't worry, the next chapter will contain more interesting things than a Slytherin's nose-picking habits._


	4. Closing the Door

Chapter 4 – Closing the Door

The warm staffroom, with its roaring fire, glowing candles, and plates of chocolate turnovers proved not comfortable enough to cheer the sullen spirits of Hermione's husband. As Severus Snape slinked into the room and took a seat beside his wife at the large center table, she could discern by his scowl that he was not in the best of moods. This was customary, however, for Severus never enjoyed attending staff meetings. Perhaps it was the warm, congenial atmosphere that accounted for this, for it made some teachers believe they had the right to blather at him. Or maybe it was the general disorder of the meetings. While Headmistress McGonagall strove to keep more order in her meetings than Dumbledore had, there was still too much open debate for Snape's taste. The last thing he wanted to hear after a long day of teaching was how Hagrid believed McGonagall's decision would affect whatever creatures he was currently raising – or "not" raising.

Seeing that there was only one chocolate turnover left on the plate closest to her, Hermione claimed it before Hagrid, who was sitting across from her, could devour anymore. Once she had taken a triumphant bite, she turned to the man who sat lifelessly beside her. "How were lessons?" Hermione asked pleasantly, shaking Snape from his sulking.

Turning to Hermione, Snape waited for the vociferous laugh of Hagrid to subside ("Hey, Hermione, yeh took the las' one!") before responding. "Tolerable," he answered with indifference. His brow became furrowed, however, as he added, "But Athena did not act at all as I had expected."

The puzzlement and slight frustration that had worked its way upon her husband's features piqued Hermione's curiosity. "How so?" she asked, wiping crumbs from her mouth.

As he laced his fingers together, the furrows on Snape's brow became more pronounced. "She did not volunteer to answer when I asked the class about Wolfsbane," he replied, speaking as if such actions were inconceivable. "I had to draw the answer from her, and even then she was hesitant." While more teachers arrived to raise the noise level, Severus struggled to contain his aggravation as Madam Pomfrey accidentally bumped the back of his chair on her way by.

Before Hermione had the chance to respond to the curious information, Neville joined the conversation. "Really? That's odd. She wouldn't stop raising her hand in Herbology! Kept going on and on about what potions could be made with Puffapods," he remarked with a chuckle, blissfully unaware of the nasty glare Snape was sending him. "It was quite like you, Hermione."

Hermione regarded the men on either side of her as took another bite of her chocolate turnover and contemplated. While Athena's behavior in Herbology was quite typical for her daughter, there was something quite strange about Snape's report. Turning to her husband, she eyed him suspiciously, crumbs besmirching her dubious expression. "Severus, what did you do to embarrass her?" Her eyebrow was raised in a humorously accusative manner.

One vein began to protrude prominently from Snape's greasy forehead as it furrowed even further. "Absolutely nothing," he responded, irritation slipping into his voice. How dare she chide him like a child in front of the others? "I – "

"Sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid I have not yet introduced myself."

Removing her gaze from her husband's livid face, Hermione looked up to see Professor Jareth take a seat across the table from Severus. His face, while appearing more weary and weathered up close, bore genial eyes as he smiled pleasantly at them.

Stretching out a plainly-garbed arm, the new Potions teacher said, "I'm Sydney Jareth."

Professor Jareth's pleasant expression appeared quite dissimilar to the displeased scowl that was etched rigidly upon Snape's face. Seeing that her husband was in a less than cordial mood, Hermione took it upon herself to be polite. "It's very nice to meet you," she responded courteously, shaking his hand. "I'm Hermione Granger, the Charms teacher."

"Ah, of course!" Jareth exclaimed, shaking her hand heartily. "There are but few places in the wizarding world where your name is not known, Professor Granger." A wide smile spread across his rough features.

Much to Hermione's relief, the new professor soon released her hand from his tight and energetic grasp. Stretching her aching fingers under the table, she responded, "Call me Hermione." As she took another bite of her turnover, reaching the chocolate center, a dozen crumbs fell upon the collar of her blue frock.

Jareth's genial smile grew somehow wider as his blue eyes brightened. "Ah, I see things aren't very stiff and formal among the Hogwarts staff," he observed with pleasure. "Very well, then you may call me Sydney."

After assuring Jareth that she would, Hermione turned to her husband, waiting for him to continue the introductions. He appeared to have no interest in the conversation, however, as he stared at the opposite wall, eyes fixed on a painting of two fat wizards fighting over a turkey leg. Although he was obviously not in the mood to admit another genial professor into his circle of acquaintances, Hermione would not allow him to exhibit such rudeness to a colleague. "And this is my husband, Sev–"

"Why, a legendary Potions master such as Severus Snape does not need an introduction!" Jareth interrupted, his tone and hand gestures ecstatic. His blue eyes now glistened with delight as they flicked to the stiff professor beside Hermione. "I am quite an admirer of your work, sir. Your work with the Draught of Living Death is just brilliant! I am surprised you're not returning to the job after Slughorn's retirement." He gazed keenly at Snape, showing an intense curiosity that curdled the corners of Snape's lips.

Disliking Jareth's prying tone, Severus glared with a mixture of severity and disinterest at the overenthusiastic professor. Only after the new Potions master had adopted a more humble demeanor did Snape deign to respond. "Potions is an essential art, yes, but Defense Against the Dark Arts is vital to the education of young witches and wizards," he explained, his manner impatient. "Hogwarts was sorely in need of quality Defense teaching before I took the post."

"Very true," Jareth agreed pleasantly, ignoring Snape's incivility. "And it seems the jinx has finally been broken…You know, Severus – may I call you Severus?" He paused in his reach for a chocolate turnover from the plate that had just magically refilled itself.

Snape's scowl deepened with displeasure. "No."

Even though Hermione was quite aware of Snape's privacy with the use of his first name, she couldn't help but frown at his brusque response. Sydney Jareth, on the other hand, just laughed. "All right, Snape it is then," he responded jovially, grabbing a chocolate turnover. After taking a bite, unleashing countless crumbs upon himself, he continued. "You know, Snape, I was actually quite apprehensive about teaching here. Both you and Slughorn have left such a legacy, it will be difficult to follow in your footsteps."

Severus scanned every feature of the new Potions master before him, from his beige crumb-covered collar to his short brown and grey hair, and decided that he did not like him. This was not a surprise, however, for there were only a few witches and wizards to whom he rewarded a favorable opinion. "Whether you possess the capacity to do so remains to be seen," he stated with stern indifference.

Hermione's frown deepened as she cast disappointed eyes upon her husband. Perhaps it was naïve to believe that the former Potions master would offer any support to the newbie, but she always had the tendency to believe better of Severus. Before she could make the customary apology for her husband's less than encouraging response, Professor McGonagall rose from her chair at the head of the table and quieted the room.

"If we are all here, then let us begin," the Headmistress announced, scanning the room to count heads. Around the long wooden table sat every instructor at Hogwarts, a relatively rare occurrence. Only at large feasts and staff meetings could McGonagall see both Snape's scowl and Trelawney's enlarged eyes at the same table.

Once she had obtained every teacher's eye contact – which was not an easy task when there was a tray of chocolate turnovers in front of Hagrid – the Headmistress took her seat and started the meeting. "I have called you all here to discuss the recent events that were announced in this morning's _Daily Prophet._ The escape of the remaining Death Eaters from Azkaban is indeed cause for concern…" Pausing, McGonagall gazed around at the professors before continuing. "But perhaps it is too soon to determine just how serious this incident is."

Before Professor McGonagall could proceed, the room began rumbling with murmurs from the staff. Removing her gaze from the Headmistress, Hermione saw Professor Trelawney whispering mystically to Professor Publius as Filch began mumbling to Hagrid. While Severus wore his typical stoicism, she could discern from his placid forehead that he was pleased by McGonagall's judgment thus far.

Clearing her throat in an impatient manner, McGonagall successfully silenced the whispers and continued. "Kingsley met with me earlier today to discuss the matter. While he urges a strong Auror presence at Hogwarts, I am not certain if that is indeed necessary. Safety is our top priority, but there has not yet been any threats to the school. A few Aurors would be enough to ensure the safety of our students," she stated firmly. After a moment, her features became more contemplative as she added, "I would like to discuss the matter with you before I make my final decision, however."

A frown immediately replaced Severus' neutral expression as McGonagall finished her statement. Her occasional democratic handling of meetings appeared not only inappropriate to him in this instance, but also a surefire way to prolong the already unpleasant staff meeting. Locking his fingers together, he prepared himself for a very dull and lengthy evening.

After a moment of silence in which teachers cast glances at one another, Septima Vector spoke. "The Ministry does not have an overabundance of Aurors. We need as many Aurors as we can searching for the Death Eaters," she observed, earning a nod from Professors Sinistra and Granger. "If you believe it necessary, I think the Ministry should only spare a few Aurors to guard the entrances of Hogwarts. The rest should be focused on recapturing the Death Eaters."

Hermione opened her mouth to agree when Argus Filch spoke up. "If I may, Headmistress," he began, his gaze darting around the room. While he was only the caretaker, and it was often debated if his gnarled face and stringy hair should be allowed at staff meetings, he was nevertheless granted permission to speak by McGonagall. "I think Hogwarts would benefit from a few dozen Aurors patrolling the halls. It would certainly keep the troublesome students in line, and stop that pesky Peeves from hanging my trousers up on any more chandeliers." As faces both bemused and amused peered at him, Filch reluctantly added, "And protect the children, of course."

Amidst the murmurs that followed Filch's assessment, Hagrid's voice was heard. "Hogwarts needs protectin', Professor," he expressed respectfully. "Those Death Eaters, 'specially Malfoy, are up to no good. But I trus' yeh, so we should all leave it to yeh to decide how ter protect the school."

The room fell way to a sea of whispers as the teachers further deliberated amongst themselves. Hermione took this opportunity to survey her husband's reaction to the discussion, for his attitude had fluctuated throughout the day, starting with aggravation in the morning and moving towards indifference. Snape, the ever masterful Occlumens, now appeared as composed as he had in his classroom, despite being obviously annoyed by the less than orderly meeting. He met her searching gaze only briefly before turning to dully answer Jareth's question about the Death Eaters who had escaped.

As Neville was commenting to Hermione about his relief that the Ministry no long allied itself with Dementors, Professor Publius cleared his ancient throat and spoke. "How can you be so calm, Headmistress? _The Daily Prophet_ has clearly explained Luscious Malroy's reason for escape – to attack Hogwarts!"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione couldn't resist the urge to correct the elderly Transfiguration professor. "It's _Lucius Malfoy_ , Professor Publius," she stated, attempting to disguise the impatience in her voice. "And the _Daily Prophet_ has no substantial evidence yet to support its claim." While tempted to adopt an all too familiar tone of superiority, Hermione curbed her know-it-all attitude for the sake of civility.

"His hair is quite luscious though," commented Bathsheda Babbling with a giggle. This earned the Ancient Runes professor a stern frown from McGonagall and some others who took the discussion seriously. Snape too allowed his brow to become furrowed in displeasure.

Hermione, while generally appearing more patient than her husband, soon adopted an equally irritated expression when the mystical tones of Professor Trelawney filled the air.

"I do not believe that limited security is a wise decision, Headmistress," she asserted mistily, large eyes expanding further. "I have been gazing into the depths of my Orb and have been rewarded a vision." She gestured gracefully to nowhere in particular, her shawl slipping from her shoulders. "I am afraid that danger – grave danger – is coming to Hogwarts! Aurors may not been enough to dispel the darkness that approaches!" Ever the theatrical soul, Trelawney punctuated her performance with a gasp.

While having listened objectively to every comment thus far, not displaying any signs of agreement or disagreement, Professor McGonagall could not conceal the scowl that crept upon her thin lips.

"I concur wholeheartedly with Professor Trulliny," expressed Gaylor Publius eagerly, lowering the hand that was cupped behind his ear.

While it had been many years since Hermione first stormed out of Sybill Trelawney's Divination lesson, she still festered a general dislike for the overdramatic fraud. It was this dislike that broke the bonds suppressing her argumentative side, releasing the arrogance that a more immature Hermione had once commonly utilized. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I find that a little difficult to believe," she commented drily.

Sensing the aggravation in Professor Granger's voice, the other teachers paused in their conversations to watch the anticipated argument unfold. Hagrid halted in the middle of devouring a chocolate turnover, crumbs littering his beard, and even Snape's eyes showed some interest as he gazed at his wife.

While Professor Trelawney's eyes widened slightly behind her magnifying glasses, she maintained her composure as she turned her mystical airs upon Hermione. "Well I do not expect you to believe, my dear, since you have suffered from lack of Sight since you were a child," she responded, shaking her head in disappointment. "But denial, I'm afraid, is not enough to combat the darkness that will soon engulf the school."

Holding Trelawney's marionette-like gaze with narrowed eyes, Hermione felt her restraint become further unraveled at the professor's patronizing words. Before she could respond, however, the croaky tones of Professor Publius joined the conversation.

"A Seer's words cannot be taken lightly," Publius declared in a theatrical tone akin to Trelawney's. "We must prepare ourselves for the darkness to come!" A withered hand flew up into the air for emphasis, earning nothing but disinterested looks from the other teachers who were quickly forming opinions on the newcomer.

While Trelawney smiled approvingly at her new convert, Hermione's lips fell into a scowl before gradually curling up into a grin. "It is unfortunate then that we don't have a true Seer to properly prophesy," she stated audaciously.

Professor Trelawney's vexation now flashed visibly over her features. "One whose Sight has been blinded by futilely searching the pages of dusty tomes cannot possess the discernment to make such a claim," the Divination teacher responded, abandoning her usual mystical tones.

Without even blinking Hermione was ready with a retort. "According to the Ministry's definition, a Seer is a witch or wizard whose accurate predictions are far greater than their false ones. As far as I know, none of the countless students whose deaths you have predicted have died, nor did I have that miscarriage with Athena that you foresaw." Her last words dripped with particular bitterness, for while Hermione had never been fond of Trelawney, a prediction made about eleven years ago had further augmented that dislike.

Detecting the bitterness that had seeped through a crack in Hermione's composure, Sybill Trelawney regained her own equanimity as she leaned back in her chair. "I did not foresee a miscarriage, my dear, but great calamity," she stated simply. "And remember, there is no expiration date on a prophecy. Disaster may yet strike your daughter."

The calm, self-assured tone in which Trelawney spoke ill of her daughter caused Hermione's anger to rise, revealing itself in fiery eyes and a furrowed brow. Before she could escalate the dispute with the words that danced dangerously on the tip of her tongue, her husband placed a hand upon her own and spoke.

"Normally I attempt to tolerate your nonsensical predictions, Trelawney," Snape began, irritation seeping into his words. "But my patience may not endure if you again involve my daughter in your false prophesies." His features were set with the utmost sternness as he relayed this warning, proving his method of composed severity more effective than Hermione's quarreling.

A somber air fell upon the staff room as the teachers glanced tentatively at Professors Snape, Granger, and Trelawney. Shrinking under the Defense teacher's gaze, Trelawney seemed to realize that she had crossed some boundaries and fell mute. Severus' black eyes remained fixed upon the offender, daring her to test his dwindling patience again.

After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, Professor McGonagall finally decided to intervene. "And what do you think about Lucius Malfoy, Severus?" she asked him, drawing his attention away from Trelawney. "You know him better than any of us here. Do you believe it likely that he will threaten the school?"

As the conversation returned to the purpose of the meeting, the remaining tension was dispelled by a large burp and bashful apology from Hagrid as he refilled his plate with chocolate turnovers. While this succeeded in drawing a smile from Hermione, she was still far from pleased. Instead of glaring disdainfully at Trelawney as part of her desired, she turned her attention to Severus as she anticipated a rational response that would put Trelawney and Publius' panic predictions to shame.

"I do not believe he will attack Hogwarts," Snape replied simply, steepling his fingers.

When her longtime colleague and friend declined to volunteer further ideas, McGonagall was left curious and slightly impatient. "Then where do you believe he will go?" she asked.

Hermione's eyes rested upon Trelawney as she awaited her husband's response, wondering if the fraudulent Seer would attempt to combat his reasoning. While already irked by the witch, a part of her slightly hoped that she would respond thusly, for she greatly enjoyed watching Severus refute Trelawney's absurdity, and was grateful to have him as an ally. However, when a theory of Malfoy's escape did not flow from her husband's lips, she discarded all thoughts of Trelawney as she turned to Severus.

Severus Snape's face bore no trace of emotion as he sat in silent serenity, seemingly insensible to any stimulus around him. His black eyes stared impassively at nothing in particular as the silence around him intensified. Every pair of eyes was fixed upon him as they watched the wizard in confusion, and the brown pair beside him appeared particularly concerned. Other than slightly paler skin, Hermione noticed nothing physically different in her husband's appearance. Then why had he not answered McGonagall?

The suffocating silence was broken by the scrape of a chair leg against the wooden floor as Severus Snape arose from his seat. The impassive black eyes made no movement towards his wife as they fell briefly upon McGonagall. "Excuse me, Headmistress," was all that left his mouth before he swiftly glided out of the room, black robes billowing behind him.

The staff of Hogwarts made one collective blink before exchanging perplexed glances. It was with utter confusion that Hermione turned to Neville, her brow furrowed and her mouth slightly agape. All Neville could offer was an equally nonplussed expression, for he bore no more understanding of Professor Snape than he did of Memory Potions.

When Hermione finally regained her voice, she hastily turned to McGonagall, her cheeks slightly flushed. "I'm sorry, Professor, I don't know what came over Severus," she apologized earnestly. As every eye fell upon her, she was struck with a wave of embarrassment, for she was the wife of this enigmatic man who cared little about his rudeness. "Earlier today he explained that he believes Lucius may try to contact Draco and Narcissa. I don't understand why he didn't just explain that now…" Her voice trailed off momentarily as her eyes fell to the recently vacated chair beside her. "But I agree with him. The Death Eaters are certainly a concern, but there is nothing to suggest that they would attack Hogwarts. If they wish to attack, then the Ministry may be just as likely a target; but it's unlikely that they have the numbers to launch an attack." While a few whispers followed this statement, neither Trelawney nor Publius audibly voiced their objections, allowing Hermione to continue. "If the Ministry has not already contacted Draco and Narcissa, they should straight away."

* * *

The moon had risen high into the black, velvety sky by the time the staff meeting finally concluded. Silvery rays permeated the dusty window panes to illuminate a very vexed Hermione as she walked hastily down the corridors. While many of the teachers had lingered in the staff room to chat, she had spared no time in leaving the meeting after it was officially closed by McGonagall's decision to speak again to Kingsley before reaching a final conclusion. As she was filled with both concern and frustration at her husband's early exit, the remainder of the meeting had proceeded with snaillike speed as each teacher made their thoughts known. Even Neville, who offered some surprisingly sage suggestions, had managed to aggravate the impatient witch. She had occasionally toyed with the idea of leaving early while Babbling blathered on about the simplicity of identifying Lucius ("All the Aurors must do is look for his hair! It's really that simple,") but decided against it lest she show the same disrespect as Severus.

Grave-silent halls were suddenly alive with the sounds of clicking heels and rustling fabric as Hermione hastened down the corridors, blue frock billowing and unruly hair flying in her face. So determined was she to pour out her admonishments to Severus that when Peeves approached her with bucket of unidentified liquid, it took only the brandishing of her wand to dispel him. Hermione was in no humor for the poltergeists' pranks that night.

Swinging open the door to their chambers, Hermione wasted no time in demanding, "What was that about?" She was suddenly halted in her tracks, however, when her eyes fell upon the sight before her: pale-faced and perceptibly disturbed, Severus was pacing around the small sitting room, arms folded tightly across his chest. His robes had been removed and crumpled on the sofa, leaving him in his usual black coat. Immediately upon her intrusion he stilled and straightened up, but the discomfort in his eyes could not be so easily masked. All aggravation in Hermione's mind was replaced by confusion and alarm. The creak of the door as it shut behind her was the only sound heard while the pair stared silently at each other. The room, while illuminated dimly by candles, was far colder than normal, and no fire blazed in the fireplace.

As the echo of the creak faded away, concern resurged within Hermione, prompting her to approach her husband in a gentler manner than the frenzy in which she had entered. "Severus, what's wrong?" she asked anxiously, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Snape's black eyes flashed with something akin to apprehension before suddenly hardening as he withdrew from her reach. "Nothing," he responded coldly.

While it was evident to Hermione that Severus was attempting to display the same impassivity that he had exhibited when exiting the staff meeting, his efforts were not as successful. From the stiffness of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders, it was apparent that something was bothering the typically unperturbable wizard.

Closing the distance that Snape had placed between them, Hermione pressed on, refusing to believe her husband's obvious lie. "There's something bothering you, I can tell!" she insisted, brow furrowing with anxiety. "Please tell me what's the matter." Taking his large calloused hands in her own, she gazed searchingly into his tumultuous obsidian eyes as she awaited his reply.

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room as Severus returned Hermione's gaze, eyes faintly belying an internal conflict. After a brief moment, however, he quickly recoiled from her touch, rejecting her affection. "I have already told you there is nothing the matter," he maintained obstinately, moving away in perceptible agitation.

While Snape had turned his face from her, the candlelight offered Hermione a faint view of the protruding vein on his forehead. Following the man to the corner in which he had retreated, she paid no mind to the coffee table she nearly tripped over as she crossed the room. Realizing with frustration that Severus was no mood for sharing, her loving concern became quickly tainted with aggravation. "Then why did you leave the staff meeting so suddenly without any explanation?" she demanded, gesturing emphatically. "It was very rude, you know!"

Snape suddenly whirled around to face her, black hair flying wildly about his face. "Some things do not concern you, Miss Granger!" he snapped, eyes flashing with ire.

As her husband's harshness stoked her fury, Hermione's face became tinted with crimson. "Don't you 'Miss Granger' me!" she exclaimed with equal volume. "In case you've forgotten, I am your wife and you have no right to treat me like a child!" Even as the words issued from her mouth in a high and agitated pitch, Hermione recognized that she sounded far closer to a child than she enjoyed. What was it about this man, besides his twenty year seniority, that could reduce her to feeling like a child?

Furrowed and crinkled up in aggravation, the face that many considered ugly now bordered on hideous. "Being my wife does not give you the right to pry into matters that do not concern you!" he sneered. Glaring at her with a discomposure that the self-possessed man rarely ever showed, his chest began heaving beneath his black coat.

Returning his glare with equal vehemence, Hermione faltered on her words as she grappled for a response. After a few seconds of false starts, she finally exclaimed, "We once promised that we would be completely honest with each other. All I ask is that you honor our agreement!" While her tone retained its passion, her volume had fallen below a shout, causing an ounce of tension to leave the air. As Severus folded his arms across his chest, an action Hermione had long associated with him closing off his heart, she released a frustrated sigh. "I know something is bothering you! Why can't you tell me?" she pleaded, brown eyes glistening in the candlelight.

Severus observed Hermione's face for a moment, seemingly absorbed in contemplation. While his features gradually relaxed into a stonier and less skewed expression, his arms remained resolutely folded across his chest. The cry of an owl sounded in the distance as the room fell silent. Then finally, when the silence was beginning to grow eerie, Snape spoke. "I do not wish to discuss this," he stated definitively. While his voice was still as cold as a December night, it was much softer, the passion draining from his demeanor.

Before Hermione could utter another word, her husband had suddenly swept past her and out the door. As the door slammed shut, its echo reverberated mournfully throughout the chambers and nearby corridors. Powerless to aid him when he was so completely set against receiving assistance, Hermione crestfallenly resigned herself to her bed, hoping that Severus would soon return with an explanation or at least improved spirits. Curling up under the many layers of blankets that no longer provided any warmth or comfort, Hermione shivered and prepared for many long and sleepless hours.

Severus Snape did not return that night.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks to those who are reading this story. Your support helps me emerge from my piles of homework and make time for writing. You guys are awesome. :)_

 _This chapter had to compete for my brain's attention with a crying baby at the airport, so I apologize for any typos or five year-old sentences. Oh yes, and the interesting and loud conversation of the people sitting next to me on the plane didn't help. Well at least they were unaware of the dork writing Snanger fanfiction next to them. That would have been awkward…_


	5. Changing Face

Chapter 5 – Changing Face

The Great Hall was already abuzz with bright faces, boisterous laughter, and animated chatter when Athena Snape entered through its large, arching doorway. By the general merriment in the air, one could assume that the students' minds were occupied with less serious matters than the concerns that pressed upon the staff. The news of the Death Eaters' escape seemed to have no significant effect on their moods; and since it was only the second day of term, energies were still quite high. It remained to be seen if such gaiety would continue to fill the Hall each morning once the term was well underway.

Weaving around a number of students and ghosts, Athena made her way to the lively Gryffindor table and took a seat beside Molly and Fred Weasley. Having grown up with frequent get-togethers with her "uncles" Harry and Ron and their families, the girl had grown quite familiar with many of the Weasley children. Because of their similar ages, the daughter of Percy and the son of George had become especially like kin to her.

As Fred Weasley and Hugh Agnew speculated boyishly about the fugitive Death Eaters ("I wonder if they'll blow anything up! That'd be brilliant!"), Athena turned her attention to the end of the Hall. While she was as interested in the Azkaban breakout as any other student, and knew that her father had once been associated with the escaped Death Eaters, she had grown quite tired of the boys' hopes for explosions and preferred to discuss the matter with someone more knowledgeable. That knowledgeable person, however, had not yet arrived at the High Table.

Professor Hermione Granger sat in her customary seat, fiddling absently with a bowl of porridge as she conversed with Neville. The seat on her other side, usually belonging to Professor Snape, was empty.

Pivoting around on the bench, Athena craned her neck to gain a better view of the entrance, hoping to see her father soon pass through the doorway. Her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework had prevented her from visiting her parents' chambers the previous night, and there were a few topics she wished to discuss. Besides obtaining their thoughts on the Death Eaters' threat to Hogwarts, the girl felt it necessary to apologize to her father for her behavior in his class.

Although she had analyzed the situation while lying in bed, Athena couldn't pinpoint the cause of her hesitation during her father's class. Perhaps this new perspective of her father – the perspective of a student – took her by surprise. While she was accustomed to various sides of him, from solemn to irritable to genuinely pleased, and had learned much from him before starting at Hogwarts, the previous morning was the first time she saw him as Professor Snape, and there was something quite odd about that. The girl, while adoring her father, was far from ignorant about how most students viewed him, and likewise knew that his behavior during their first Defense lesson was considerably mild. Many of her bedtime stories had consisted of her mother's school day tales, including many accounts of her lessons with Professor Snape. This is why she couldn't explain the unforeseen nervousness that had struck her that day. Perhaps she just needed a few days to become acquainted with her father's classroom manner.

Athena's thoughts were interrupted when she noticed that the first years had switched topics from Death Eaters to their dreaded Defense teacher. Filling her plate with bacon and eggs, she listened curiously to their thoughts on her father.

"I still can't believe he took away twenty points for a simple question!" Felicity Earl pouted, her pretty face scrunched up in a scowl.

"Hah, firsties!" laughed a fourth year boy Athena had learned was Hugh's brother Emmett. Setting down the fork that had been speared into a mound of scrambled eggs, Emmett cast a glance to the staff table before continuing. "You'll soon learn that Snape'll take away Gryffindor points for anything and everything," he informed with a mixture of humor and annoyance. "And watch out for detentions. Last year I accidentally sneezed on him and he gave me a bloody week-long detention."

As a few first years' eyes expanded, Victoire Weasley leaned into the conversation from the other side of Fred. "What question did you ask him, Felicity?" she asked curiously, wiping her delicate face with a napkin.

"If he's really married to Hermi– Professor Granger," Felicity quickly corrected, remembering why Snape had unjustly detracted an extra ten points. For a child who, like many others, had grown up with stories of the Boy Who Lived, referring to the great Hermione Granger as professor would take some practice.

Victoire nodded knowingly, her silky red locks fluttering about her face. "Yeah, never ask him about his personal life. He hates that," she stated, a smile creeping onto her ruby lips.

"It's just so odd to think he even has a personal life…" Felicity commented, eyes traveling to Professor Granger at the High Table. "My dad's told me all about how barmy he is." After taking a swig of pumpkin juice, the petite girl's eyes expanded as she set her glass down. "But hey, we can just ask Athena!" she realized with a grin.

As the eyes of Emmett, Victoire, and the first year Gryffindors fell upon Athena, the black-haired girl simply smiled in amusement. "He's not barmy, he can just be a little…" Her voice trailed off as she sought an appropriate adjective with which to describe her complicated father. "Intense," she finally decided.

"More like terrifying," muttered Cecelia Attwater as she stirred cinnamon into her porridge.

Athena had learned from a young age that Professor Snape wasn't revered by most of the students he taught. This information was gleaned from many stories conveyed by her mother and family friends, as well as several situations she witnessed before attending Hogwarts. Uncle Ron particularly had a special talent for relaying humorous stories about the professor, although he and Harry always made sure to speak of him with respect. But while Athena had come to accept that most students disliked her father, she found their fear of him puzzling. The man could become quite intimidating when his temper was riled, which could often make her nervous, but she could not recall a time when she had been genuinely afraid of him. Because she had grown up in his presence, she was incapable of seeing his enigmatic black eyes and sarcastic sneer through the eyes of a new student.

"You're not really _scared_ of him, are you?" Athena asked, tilting her head in confusion. "I know most people don't like him, but there's no reason to be afraid of him."

Cecelia Attwater threw a glance at the High Table to confirm that Snape had not yet arrived before proceeding. "But all those pictures he has on the walls…and the way he glares at you like he's looking through your soul…" Her voice trailed off as she began fiddling with her spoon, her eyes wide and disconcerted.

An amused grin spread across Athena's face as some other first years joined in Cecelia's trepidation. Truthfully the girl found the other students' inaccurate conceptions of her father humorous; and like a well-kept secret, she enjoyed her position as one of the few human beings who was allowed to see Severus Snape's gentler side. Thus she really couldn't sympathize with her classmates' exaggerated fears.

Laying down her fork, Athena set her eyes keenly upon Cecelia. With lowered eyebrows and a piercing gaze, she drew the corners of her lips into a stern scowl. "Like this?"

The first year Gryffindors all stared at Athena with varying mixtures of surprise, confusion, or nervousness. Cecelia's eyes had widened considerably and Fred nearly choked on his scrambled eggs. "Blimey, Athena, don't do that!" Fred coughed, reaching for a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Yeah, you look so much like him when you do that!" Molly added apprehensively.

The first years' reactions were not wholly unfounded. While Athena had inherited her mother's large brown eyes and bushy hair, the eleven year-old could achieve a fairly accurate imitation of her father's scowl with her dark eyebrows and rather long nose. But while she considered the imitation humorous, breaking the stern face to release a few laughs, it appeared by their frowns and nervous glances that not many of Gryffindor first years felt the same.

Confused by the apprehensive reception of her joke, Athena's grin diminished as the air grew uncomfortable. "Sorry," she apologized sheepishly, fiddling with her fork. Silence reigned for only a moment longer, however, before Athena dispelled the awkwardness and spoke. "But really, Father's not that bad," the girl assured them with a shrug. "He just has no tolerance for stupid students."

Felicity narrowed her emerald eyes at Athena. "What are you implying?" she asked, affronted.

Having heard countless complaints from her father about his half-witted students, Athena was unaware of how rude that comment appeared until it had fallen out of her mouth and onto the ears of several shocked Gryffindors. "Oh, I didn't mean – "

As Athena scrambled to make an apology, she felt a sudden nudge on the back of her head. "Excuse me, sorry," came a voice.

Swiveling around on the bench, Athena looked up to see a ginger-haired boy standing there, garbed in a Hufflepuff uniform. With a long neck and a lanky build, the boy appeared to be at least fourteen years old.

The Hufflepuff boy flashed a smile at Victoire Weasley before his eyes returned to Athena. "Oh, you're Athena, Snape and Granger's daughter!" he realized, eying her bushy black hair. After a moment of contemplation, he added, "Yeah, I've seen you at my godfather's Christmas parties."

"Oh, and you're Teddy Lupin!" Athena responded, coming upon a realization of her own. On the verge of delivering another observation, she suddenly stopped herself, realizing that mentioning what she had heard from her father about Teddy was not the best idea, for his remarks were never favorable. Passing a moment in silent contemplation, Athena had decided to comment on Teddy's late parents' legendary bravery when he again spoke.

"I couldn't help but see your Snape glare," Teddy began, brown eyes glinting with a strange gleam. "Pretty impressive, but you are his daughter after all. I've been working on one of my own."

Teddy's words had captured the attention of every student who sat around that end of the Gryffindor table. Their conversation fell silent and they gazed at him expectantly as his face scrunched up in concentration. As a dozen lines began to appear on Teddy's forehead and around his mouth and eyes, his ginger hair suddenly faded to black and began growing rapidly. In a few seconds what stood there before them was a lanky fourteen year-old body with the head of Professor Snape, glaring with steely black eyes.

While a chorus of laughter rang out from the older students, the look that every first year's face shared was one of amazement and horror. Athena likewise blinked in shock, uncertain how she felt about the boy wearing her father's face, even as a joke.

The metamorphosis only lasted for a moment, Snape's face soon morphing back into Teddy's original features. The second his rightful face had returned, the boy shook his head disgruntledly and muttered, "Blast!" Then, ignoring the shock that was still plastered upon some first years' faces, he shrugged. "I can't keep it up for long now, but I'll keep practicing. Might come in handy someday." His lips curved into a mischievous grin.

Fred was the first of the young Gryffindors to overcome his astonishment and speak. "That was bloody brilliant!" he marveled, face illuminated with awe.

A few seconds later Felicity found her own voice, her face alight with bewilderment "How on earth did you do that?" she asked. Beside her Cecelia Attwater was still frozen in repulsion.

"I'm a metamorphmagus," Teddy responded simply. "I can change my appearance without using a Polyjuice Potion. It's more difficult than it looks, at least with full transformations." He then paused and glanced up at the locks of hair that fell back into his eyes. "My hair, on the other hand, has a mind of its own." As if on cue, Teddy's ginger locks faded into a glossy ebony color, changing the entire aspect of his appearance.

Although many curious young Gryffindors bombarded Teddy with questions, he soon politely took his leave from them and returned to his own table. This left the students eagerly discussing the phenomenon of Teddy's metamorphmagus abilities. While Athena relayed all the information she had gleaned from books such as _Rare Magical Abilities_ and _Out of Shape: A Shape-Shifter's Guide to Society,_ she could not provide them with the same knowledge as a genuine metamorphmagus. Thus the conversation consisted mostly of speculation and soon turned to other topics such as the grotesque imp brain displayed prominently on Professor Snape's desk.

* * *

Especially eager to attend her first Potions lesson, Athena found herself standing in the dungeon corridors before anyone else had arrived. Trying the handle of the wide wooden door revealed that the Potions classroom was still locked. As the girl rocked absently on her heels, she felt a feeling of excitement and impatience surge through her frame. This would be the first Potions lesson she could attend without having to listen through a door or hide in a cupboard. Her father had been an excellent one-on-one teacher, yes, but there was something about a classroom atmosphere that thrilled the girl. Since she had hitherto been "homeschooled" as Muggles may call it, she had yet to realize that school was typically not the amazing experience she expected.

Time seemed to crawl by like a slug as Athena awaited the start of the lesson, checking her watch every few seconds. While she had swiftly left the Great Hall after finishing her breakfast, she didn't think she had been that much ahead of the students who stayed behind to socialize. Yet there was still no sign of them as the creak of a door echoed somewhere in the distance.

Athena had resigned herself to skimming through the later chapters of _Magical Draughts and Potions_ when the sound of footsteps reached her ears. Turning around, she found that the rest of the first year Gryffindors had arrived with their books and cauldrons, chatting and giggling. Just as Athena began finding their giggles odd, noticing how many glances were being thrown her direction, Molly joined her by the Potions room door and set down her heavy cauldron beside Athena's by the wall.

"Are potions really hard to make?" Molly asked her friend anxiously.

"Not the ones in this book," Athena replied with a shrug, closing her Potions textbook. "I wouldn't recommend trying to brew a Headache Healing Potion though. It's more difficult than it looks." A small sheepish smile appeared on her face at the humorous memory of her blunder.

At that moment there was a loud clicking noise before the heavy wooden doors slowly opened with a scrape, revealing Professor Jareth. With neatly groomed hair, cleanly trimmed whiskers, and a genial smile, the new Potions professor appeared singularly out of place in the gloomy dungeon atmosphere. The only aspect of his appearance that seemed in congruity with their surroundings was the plethora of lines carved deeply into his face. His smile brightened these defects, however, making him appear overall agreeable to the first year Gryffindors.

"Welcome students!" Professor Jareth greeted jovially as the students filed past him into the classroom. "I apologize for the locked door, but I needed to put the finishing touches on my potion before I could allow you in."

Recognizing Professor Jareth as the man with whom she had carelessly collided the previous morning, Athena kept her gaze facing staunchly forward as she past him lest her cheeks turn red. The last thing the girl wanted was to experience the same awkwardness she had felt during her first Defense lesson.

Taking a seat beside Molly and Fred, Athena cast her gaze around the room. With a plethora of candles, sconces, and hanging lamps, the Potions dungeon appeared considerably more cheerful than it ever had before. With the chamber thus illuminated, the countless bottles of liquid that lined the walls were more visible to the students, and even the labels were readable. A large steaming cauldron sat at the front of the classroom, the ladle inside it enchanted to stir the contents at a steady rate. Beside the brewing potion stood a chalkboard that read " _Welcome Gryffindors"_ in elegant script, a message quite dissimilar to the words that had greeted them in Snape's class. The board beneath the word "Gryffindors" was tinted white with chalk dust, signifying that Jareth was customizing the welcome to each House depending on what class he was teaching.

Beside the steaming cauldron stood a table partially obscuring the tall teacher's desk behind it. Upon the table sat an abundance of jars and baskets containing various odd items that could only serve as potion ingredients.

As Athena strove to read every label on the jar-lined shelves nearest her, Professor Jareth strolled up to the front of the class and stopped beside the Self-Stirring Cauldron. "Welcome to your first Potions lesson. Now as you probably know, this is my first year as Potions master," he began with a humble smile. "But if you humor my mistakes, then I'll try my best to humor yours – unless of course you're about to kill yourself. Then I'm afraid I'll have to intervene."

Jareth's pleasant smile broadened as a few students chuckled, already recognizing their professor's easygoing nature. Leaning over to Cecelia, Felicity whispered, "I doubt Snape would have intervened. My dad nearly died from a poisonous potion and the git did nothing."

"In all seriousness, I will of course have rules to govern my classroom," he continued, straightening his lips and placing a hand on the table beside him. The chuckles and whispers immediately ceased, but all nervousness was banished from the air when Jareth's smile returned. "But while I strive to be provide as excellent instruction as the Potions masters before me, I will try to make myself more approachable to students. You are after all the future of our society, and I consider it a great honor to help prepare you for that future."

A number of students exchanged pleased glances, relieved that their Potions master appeared nothing like their Defense teacher.

"You may find my teaching methods different from your other professors," Professor Jareth proceeded. "I do not strongly believe in the effectiveness of long lecturing and copious note-taking." A few grins sprang up on the students' faces. "That is why most of my lessons will consist of hands-on activities designed to give you practical experience in potion-making. Memorization is important, but staring at a textbook until you go blind is nothing compared to the actual experience of brewing a potion – the smoky aroma filling your lungs, the slimy newt eyes oozing between your fingers."

As Professor Jareth continued to speak lovingly about the potion brewing experience, Athena's undivided attention was fixated on every word he spoke. While she had often heard her father speak eloquently on the subject during their one-on-one lessons, never had she heard potions treated with such energy and enthusiasm. It appeared that she and her new professor had very similar views on the marvels of potion-making.

Once he had finished describing every detail of the Invigoration Draught's sweet taste, Professor Jareth turned to the cauldron, observed it for a moment, and then halted the stirring spoon with a flick of his wand. "For our first lesson you will identify this potion," he announced, placing his wand back inside his large coat pocket. As students craned their necks and rose slightly from their seats to gain a better view, whispers filled the classroom until Professor Jareth spoke again. "You will first be allowed to test the potion to determine its effects. Don't worry – I assure you it is not harmful." The Potions master then crossed the front of the classroom, stopping on the other side of the wooden table. "You must then choose the ingredients to recreate the potion. Since this is the first lesson, I do not expect you brew the potion. Simply lay out the ingredients on your desks and I will brew a potion from what you have selected." When he paused to allow for questions and received varying degrees of eager expressions, he moved back to the cauldron and said, "Now split up into groups of three and we shall begin."

The dungeon classroom became alive with the scrapes of chairs and cheerful voices as the students left their seats and divided up. After a brief discussion, Athena and Molly nominated Fred as their group's potion tester and approached the front. Once the previous group cleared the front with an exclamation from Hugh ("Tastes like rubbish!"), the three circled around the smoldering cauldron.

While only the first lesson, Athena was certain that Potions would be her absolute favorite class. Her love of potions had made her nearly certain that it would, and now this exercise confirmed it. The girl drew an immense amount of enjoyment from determining by the rising of Fred's bushy hair that the mystery concoction was a Hair-Raising Potion. So immersed was she as she eagerly retrieved rat tails, powdered asphodel, and horned slugs from the table that she was unaware of Molly and Fred's frowns as she snatched up the ingredients and rushed to their desk. The girl likewise did not seem to notice her friends' lack of great enthusiasm as they listened politely to her ramblings on the surprisingly practical uses for Hair-Raising Potion.

As Jareth walked among the chatter and laugher, observing the students work, he stopped occasionally to answer their various questions. So readily did the new professor reply that he perhaps gave too many details in his answers, hinting that leech juice was too dangerous to be used in the first lesson and that salamander blood had distinct rejuvenating properties. He also was certain to remind the students that they were engaged in an activity, not a test, and they would receive full points for participating, regardless of the outcome of their work.

Once every group had selected the ingredients they believed would create a Hair-Raising Potion, causing only a minimal mess of spilled octopus powder and scattered scarab beetles, Professor Jareth began brewing each mixture to test its accuracy. After winding up with a few cauldrons of useless sludge, a couple Babbling Beverages, and a Cure for Boils, he finally arrived upon the correct potion when he brewed the ingredients of Fred, Molly, and Athena.

After a few more odd concoctions, it was decided that only Athena's group had successfully chosen the ingredients to recreate a Hair-Raising Potion. As a reward, Professor Jareth gave Gryffindor ten points for each of them, a prize that decidedly benefitted the whole Gryffindor class. But the three also exclusively received handfuls of sour apple bites, resulting in wide smiles and proving that students could be satisfied with candy.

The first Potions lesson ended with a short cauldron-cleaning demonstration and an announcement about their first project that would be due in a month. Once every group had cleaned their cauldrons with varying degrees of success, most sparing no thought for the assignment that was so far away, they packed up their supplies and left the classroom.

The dungeon chamber had nearly returned to its silent state of rest as Athena placed her copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions_ in her book bag. While the others, including Fred and Molly, had packed up and exited with the speed of energetic tweens, Athena had paused to again admire the plethora of potions that lined the shelves. Slinging her bag over her shoulder and lifting her cauldron, she was turning to the door when Professor Jareth approached her.

"Miss Snape, excellent work today," he commended as Athena pivoted around to face him. "You seem to have quite the knack for potions. I'm sure you could have brewed that potion if I had required it, what with your father being Professor Snape." Much like when he was teaching the class, Jareth wore a wide cheerful smile.

Athena could not help but adopt the contagious grin of Professor Jareth. "Oh no, my father doesn't teach me silly potions like that," she quickly clarified. "I read about Hair Raising Potion in _Practical and Pointless Potions_ and tried it once. It's very simple compared to the ones my father taught me." She shifted the pewter cauldron in her arms to better support its weight.

"Yes, I'm certain it is," the Potions master remarked with a chuckle. "Anyhow, just thought I'd tell you that there's something caught in your hair."

"Oh, thank you," Athena replied. Professor Jareth had already returned to his desk by the time she managed to locate and remove the object that was stuck to a mess of curls on the back of her head. Turning the mysterious item over in her hand, she found it to be a piece of paper with the words _"wash me"_ scrawled boldly.

Face flushing red, Athena hastily stuffed the paper into her book bag and exited the classroom, a wave of embarrassment and confusion washing over her.

* * *

The luminous moon and twinkling stars gleamed brightly in the clear night sky as an old grandfather clock struck midnight with a doleful clang. Pulling a handful of blankets snugly around herself, Hermione rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling through the gloom. The moon's soft rays permeated the thin curtains that were drawn over the windows, illuminating the high wooden beams that stretched across the bedroom ceiling. While her weary body yearned for slumber, her restless mind, racing with innumerable thoughts, refused to accept sleep's sweet solace.

Casting a glance to the cold empty sheets beside her, Hermione resigned herself to another sleepless night. The witch had not seen her inexplicably irritable husband since their argument the previous night, causing the day to pass at a molasses-like speed. It had been difficult to keep her mind focused on teaching, for her thoughts always strayed back to Severus, offering countless explanations for his behavior which ranged from possible to absolutely ridiculous. During fourth year Charms with the Hufflepuffs, she had learned that her husband still remained in the castle, for several students complained quite audibly about the boatload of homework he had assigned them that morning. While this brought her some reassurance, it soon became evident that he was avoiding her, for whenever she visited his classroom or office he was conveniently out. It appeared that no amount of persistence would be sufficient in confronting a Severus who did not wish to be confronted. After much aggravation and deliberation, the disgruntled witch decided to try a different method and wait patiently for him to approach her. That appeared to be the only option in circumstances like these.

Yet Snape did not return that evening, convincing a frustrated Hermione to finally set down the book she had been half-heartedly skimming and go to bed. But even under the downy folds of innumerable blankets she could not find rest from the disquiet that had trailed her the entire day. The steady ticking of the grandfather clock, while once providing a lulling continuity, served only to vex her nerves and perpetuate her insomnia.

As Hermione again questioned how well she even knew her husband of twelve years, the creak of a door interrupted her thoughts. Rolling back on her side, she listened intently as the sound of a shutting door, followed by footsteps in the sitting room, drifted through her bedroom door. The footsteps plodded around the sitting room for a few minutes before growing louder. Hermione's eyes instantly fell shut as the bedroom door opened, admitting the footsteps into the chamber. The steps were now accompanied by the rustling of cloth and opening of drawers as the feet's owner presumably donned their nightly attire.

A soft exhale was heard as Severus Snape pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. While Hermione did not roll over to face her husband, she could discern by the lack of body warmth that he had situated himself on the opposite side of the bed, his back towards her.

 _Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._ The clock continued its ceaseless march, resounding deafeningly in the silence that encompassed the room. The couple remained entirely still on opposite sides of the bed, separated by the unknown burden that Severus insisted on shouldering himself. Hermione should have felt relief that her husband had returned, for it signified that he still cared for her. But as she stared unseeingly at the wall, she felt more unrest than before the man had entered the room, for his presence only increased the surge of thoughts within her overactive mind.

Outside the somber chamber a cluster of clouds eclipsed the moon, bathing the bedroom in utter darkness. Still Hermione's eyes remained opened, untouched by any thought of sleep. Neither she nor Severus had stirred since he had laid himself down an indefinite amount of minutes ago. Then suddenly the rustle of sheets was heard before Hermione felt considerable warmth pressed against her back. An arm draped over her waist and pulled her closer as a nose buried itself inside her frizzy locks, inhaling deeply.

Once Severus had settled himself comfortably around her smaller frame, Hermione felt her body relax. The expression that graced her features was not technically a smile, for no curling of the lips occurred, but more of a dissolving of worry. Maybe she should have demanded answers for his rude behavior and obvious avoidance, but she found it difficult to retain her aggravation when he held her so tenderly. His soft touch, as his hand moved up to stroke her cheek, relayed to her a message that she knew his words could never express. That did not mean that she had completely forgiven him for his disrespect and evasiveness, but she was content to save such topics for another hour. All she wished now was to revel in his presence and be lulled into a sorely desired sleep.

An innumerable amount of time had elapsed in peaceful silence before a voice spoke.

"I…have never excelled at apologies."

A moment of silence ensued before Hermione responded. "Practice makes perfect."

Once Severus Snape had exhaled audibly, the room was plunged into another length of silence. The man did not recoil, however, encouraging his wife to patiently await his eventual reply. "I should not have spoken so harshly, Hermione. I am sorry," he expressed softly, his voice muffled by her hair. His hand traveled back from her cheek and rested snugly across her waist. "But please…let us speak of this no more. I cannot explain what happened, I…"

As his voice trailed away in evident confliction, Hermione pulled the top blanket up to her chin. She remained with her back to Severus, for sometimes she found it easier to converse when his black eyes weren't glaring at her. "I am just concerned for your wellbeing, Severus," she stated softly. "I know you don't enjoy talking about your problems, but I wish there was some way I could help you."

Severus lifted his face from her nest of hair and tried to arrange the mass of curls in a fashion that didn't obstruct his breathing. "There is a way," he responded at length. "Promise me you won't press me about this matter again." His voice, while still as soft as a whisper, had adopted a stern tone.

Hermione released a quiet sigh as she considered his words. "I'm sorry, Severus, but I care too much about you to make that promise," she answered earnestly. While her words were tender, her husband noticeably stiffened at her refusal to comply. But after another moment of contemplation, Hermione added, "But if you promise me that you are in excellent health and in no danger…I can wait until you're ready to discuss what's troubling you."

Severus tightened his grip around her waist and drew even closer, resting his chin comfortably atop her head. "Thank you," he breathed.

The room settled into a peaceful silence that soon lulled both witch and wizard to sleep.

* * *

When Hermione left the world of dreams and slipped back into consciousness, she was not greeted by bright morning light seeping through the curtains. In fact, the first sensation she became aware of as her mind attempted to dispel its fog was a pervasive coldness. A quick examination told her that she had not thrown off any layers of blankets, as was apt to happen when her dreams were less than pleasant. Stretching her slumber-stiff limbs hugely, the witch was in the middle of a yawn when she immediately discovered the cause of the cold.

Rolling onto her other side, she was greeted by empty sheets immaculately smoothed down by the greatest care. No wrinkle sullied their flat surface as they were tucked neatly under a fully fluffed pillow. It was almost as if Severus had never returned that night, for his side of the bed had been restored to its previous undisturbed state. But he must have returned, Hermione assured herself, for why else would her anxiety have abated?

Well, it _had_ abated…It was definitely returning in full force now.

While it seemed to Hermione that the sun should already be awake, a glance to the grandfather clock told her that it was only 3 am: too early to start the day. Yet as she lay there staring unhappily at the empty sheets, she knew that she would never find rest when her husband was mysteriously missing.

It wasn't as if Hermione had never woken to an empty bed. The scholarly wizard would arise early upon occasion to work on a particularly engaging project, as would she from time to time. Yet somehow in light of his mysterious behavior recently, she doubted that was the case. Still the hopeful witch withheld some of her anxiety as she rose from the downy blankets to search the room for a note. If Severus was indeed working on a project, he would have left her a note to ease her mind.

After retrieving her wand from the nightstand and lighting the lamps, Hermione searched the room thoroughly but could not find any note. Heaving a sigh as worry began to seep into her mind, she donned her slippers and plodded to the door where she opened it and peered into the sitting room. " _Lumos_ ," she whispered, holding her wand out before her. The sitting room sat entirely inert in the shadow of night. She called out his name in case he was in one of the other rooms, but received no reply.

Returning to the bedroom, Hermione hugged herself to repress a shiver as the cold air infiltrated her thin nightdress. As she stood before the bed, she paused to survey the room and contemplate.

Hermione had stood in the silence for an indeterminate amount of time before she suddenly remembered a handy little piece of parchment she had received from Harry for her twenty-fifth birthday. While it was just a mere copy born of an enchantment, it held the same power as the original and had proven quite useful over the years. As she crossed the room to her wardrobe, she was reminded that while Harry had given her an incredibly useful gift that year, she had inadequately repaid him with a birthday present of hand-knit socks.

When she threw open the wardrobe doors, she had to sift through numerous articles of clothing to reach the parchment's location. Pushing aside a grey woolen coat, she pinpointed a particular spot in the wardrobe's wooden back and held up her wand. With a flick of the wrist, a drawer suddenly appeared on the inside of the wardrobe, its ivory handle gleaming in the lamplight. Opening the small drawer, Hermione retrieved a folded piece of parchment – the Marauder's Map.

Turning over the map in her hands, Hermione fondly recalled the moment when Harry had pulled her aside at her birthday party to present her with his gift – a copy of the legendary Marauder's Map. While he was understandably keeping the original document to bequeath to his children, he had offered Hermione a duplicate to assist her in teaching at Hogwarts. Attached to the gift, however, was a requirement that she keep the map hidden from Snape. As Harry had maintained, a map with the location of everyone in Hogwarts would be granting an excessive amount of power to the man who seemed to feed off the misery of children. While Hermione resented his assertion, she realized the logic in it and promised her friend that the map would remain secret. Thus she had concealed it in a place in which her husband never snooped – her wardrobe.

Closing the wardrobe's mahogany doors, Hermione returned to the bed and perched on its edge, holding the map under the oil lamp on her nightstand. Once she had unfolded it with the usual "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she spread it open across her lap and began searching its illustrated corridors. Past clusters of students in dormitories and wandering ghosts her eyes traveled, hunting for Severus Snape among the countless names and footprints. Finally, after skimming past Argus Filch making his nightly rounds near the History of Magic classroom, she located her husband's name floating about a dungeon corridor, footprints in tow.

Holding the map closer to the light, Hermione observed the name for several moments as her heart pounded heavily in her chest. While she was confused about Snape's current location, spying on Severus' movements ignited a strange feeling of schoolgirl giddiness within her bosom. But there was no time for such feelings, she told herself, and promptly dispelled them as she concentrated resolutely on his floating name.

Back and forth the footprints ambled around the corridors, never entering a room and never ceasing. It was as if Snape was wandering aimlessly through the dungeon, for there was no method to his madness. While she attempted earnestly to keep her eyes focused solely on his name, hoping to discover a clue to his actions, she soon grew tired of the monotony and found herself reclining on the bed, the map held up before her. In a more comfortable position she would continue her vigil, eyes glued fixedly upon the name as it weaved in and out of the corridors. Up the walkway, around the corner, past the Slytherin common room, down another corridor, back up again, around another corner, down again, then another corner, past the Potions classroom now, then yet another corner…

Before Hermione had realized it, the steady motion of Severus' ink-blot footprints had charmed the witch's eyelids shut and lulled her into slumber. As the bedroom again plunged into silence, the Marauder's Map replica fell from her heaving chest and floated softly to the ground.

* * *

 _Author's note: Well this chapter would have been finished a lot sooner if I hadn't gotten addicted to Drawception. It is too fun!_

 _I got the idea about the "wash me" note from a comic on deviantART called "HP – Snape's Revenge" by Tenshi-no-Hikari._

 _A hearty Hagrid-sized thanks to everyone who's following this fanfic. :)_

 _ **Update:**_ _Since when I first posted this chapter, an extra few sentences were added at the end of the first scene to mention a class project. It's not really major, just something I forgot to add in._


	6. The Metamorphmagus

Chapter 6 – The Metamorphmagus

Bright morning rays shined through the diaphanous curtains and fell upon Hermione's face as the witch drifted back from her deep, dreamless sleep. So snugly had slumber encompassed her that she lay staring at the ceiling for quite some time without a care, hair sprawled haphazardly across her pillow. Her previous concerns did not return to her until sounds other than birdsong reached her ears.

Two distinct voices wafted through the bedroom door from the sitting room. While she could recognize the voices as belonging to her husband and daughter, she could not distinguish their words until she had unburied her head from her nest of hair and sat up.

"My first Potions project is due in a month. We're supposed write an essay on the history of a particular potion and then brew it correctly for the class. It sounds like fun, I can't wait to get started!"

"What is the required length of the essay?"

"Fifteen inches."

"Jareth is too lenient…Nevertheless, refrain from being too overzealous and do not write more than is required. I am not familiar with Jareth's marking methods, but _I_ do not look favorably upon longwinded essays. They're dreadfully bothersome to read."

"Yes, Father."

"If you need any assistance, you are more than welcome to ask."

Casting a glance to the other side of the bed, Hermione found it nearly as she remembered from her earlier awakening. While her movements had somewhat disturbed the sheets' smooth surface, the neatness of her husband's designated side had not been disrupted by a sleeper. Rising from bed, Hermione immediately tuned out the conversation from the sitting room when she felt the crunch of parchment under her bare foot.

Heart rate accelerating and brown eyes widening, Hermione's full recollection returned to her as she retrieved the Marauder's Map from the floor. Having not received the passphrase to close it, the magically replicated document remained covered in the ink-scrawled halls of Hogwarts. As she hastily uttered "mischief managed" and folded up the map, a knot began to form in the pit of her stomach as she realized the parchment's degree of exposure.

Had Severus entered the bedroom since he returned from his surreptitious nighttime endeavors? If so, the wizard would have undeniably spied the map on the floor. Somehow Hermione doubted he would be pleased about this valuable secret she was concealing from him.

As the witch hastened to the wardrobe to return the map to its hiding spot, one ear trained on the conversation outside, she scanned the room for any indications of Snape's presence. There was really no point in this, however, for the furtive man could leave any place wholly undisturbed if such was his intent. Once the Marauder's Map replica had been securely concealed inside the back of the wardrobe, Hermione wrapped her dressing gown loosely around her frame. After a fruitless battle to render her wild mane presentable, she headed for the door, the conversation again becoming perceptible to her ears.

"Any news about the escaped Death Eaters?"

"No. Just idle speculation."

Entering the sitting room, Hermione found Severus seated in an armchair, perusing through the _Daily Prophet_. Athena was perched on the armrest beside him, looking over the paper curiously. "Don't worry about them," Hermione reassured her daughter, an irrepressible yawn interrupting her sentence. "Professor McGonagall will station Aurors at the grounds' entrances to protect Hogwarts. But an attack is highly unlikely anyway."

Observing the composed black eyes that skimmed the newspaper, Hermione found nothing in her husband's demeanor to suggest that he had discovered the Marauder's Map. Relieved by this deduction, she then began further study to determine any signs of insomnia. However, nothing seemed altered in his appearance save the dark lines beneath his eyes that seemed slightly more pronounced than usual. While he caught her perceptive gaze with a steady eye, she did not feel it right to question his absence in front of Athena, worried that it may trigger a repeat of their previous argument.

"Good morning, dear," Severus greeted placidly, glancing up at her with steady black eyes. "Have a nice lie-in?" His lips curled up in amusement as his gaze lingered on her riotous, sleep-tousled curls before returning to the _Prophet._

"What?" Hermione asked, confused by his smirk. When her eyes fell upon the clock above the fireplace, however, her puzzlement was replaced by alarm. "It's already 8:30?" she exclaimed in disbelief, every ounce of lethargy leaving her body. Then, fixing her eyes waspishly on Severus, she demanded, "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I was actually unaware that you were still in bed," the wizard replied unconcernedly, turning a page of his newspaper without sparing her a glance. "Your boundless energy usually has you up by dawn."

While irritated by her husband's indifference when she was so far behind schedule, Hermione repressed a retort and turned to Athena. "Have you had breakfast yet, young lady?" she questioned, knotted hair flying about her face.

"I just finished!" Athena assured her mother quickly, eager to remain on her mother's good side. While Hermione Granger was typically a morning person, her mood could turn very sour when she overslept. "But you and Father weren't there so I came to find you," the girl explained. Beside her, Severus took a sip of his pumpkin tea and placed it back on the end table.

Relaxing only slightly, Hermione instructed, "Well don't be late for class," before turning for the bedroom door.

An amused grin spread across Athena's youthful features, an exaggerated mimicry of the subtle smirk that remained upon her father's lips. "I won't. My teacher's not ready yet," the girl answered smartly.

Since the moment her gaze had fallen upon the clock, Hermione had been filled with an urgency that ousted many other thoughts from her mind, for she despised arriving late to anything. One of the thoughts to vacate her flustered head was her class schedule, for only after Athena's statement had she realized that her first class consisted of first year Gryffindors. "Right. We'll go together then," Hermione decided before disappearing into the bedroom.

As she shifted into a more comfortable posture on the armrest, Athena's grin drooped slightly. Once the clatter of opening drawers began emanating from the bedroom, she muttered, "None of the other kids have their parents walk them to class."

Slowly the newspaper lowered into Snape's lap as he turned his head slightly, eyeing his daughter with displeasure. "Is that embarrassment I detect?" he asked reproachfully, an eyebrow arching. "Are you embarrassed by your mother, Athena?"

Detecting the seriousness in her father's voice, the girl hastily responded "No sir!" Black curls bounced haphazardly as she shook her head.

Athena's plea of innocence did not seem to convince Severus, however, for his admonishing gaze remained fixed intently upon her. "Then perhaps you are embarrassed by your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" While his tone had become more casual, the palpable solemnity remained. "When I warned against succumbing to your mother's know-it-all tendencies, I did not mean that you should never answer questions."

Athena felt heat rise to her cheeks as memories of Tuesday's Defense class resurfaced, shame remerging in tow. "I'm sorry, Father…" she apologized earnestly, twiddling her thumbs. "I don't know what came over me. I'll do better next time, I promise!" To display her sincerity, she smiled sweetly at her father, all too aware that the brightness of her grin worked wonders on melting the man's icy exterior.

While Athena's grin did not elicit a smile, Severus' features softened considerably as the displeasure waned from his eyes. "Good," he responded, returning to his newspaper. "You are a skilled girl, so I expect no less than your best." After skimming an article titled "House-elf Found Dead in Budleigh Babberton, _"_ he turned to a page consisting mostly of a large black-and-white photo.

Relieved to see her father appeased, Athena's immensely sugary grin relaxed into a more natural smile. "Yes sir," she answered perkily. Gaze lowering from the wizard's face, her eyes were suddenly attracted to the large moving picture displayed prominently on the newspaper's wrinkled surface. Reading the elegant script caption, her lips mouthed the word "Malfoy" before her gaze returned to Snape. "Is that Mr. Draco's father?" she asked curiously. While she had become acquainted with Draco Malfoy through her mother's gatherings and knew him to be a friend of her parents, he was not as close to the family as Ron and Harry and was therefore not allotted "uncle" status. Thus she politely called him "Mr. Draco," for her parents hardly referred to him as "Mr. Malfoy."

Snape's eyes fell to where Athena pointed: the same prison photograph of Lucius Malfoy that the newspaper had been running since the breakout. "It is," he replied simply.

Athena scooted closer to gain a better view of the photo, her gaze drawn to the dark bruise-like smudges beneath the convicted wizard's eyes. After a few moments of observation, she asked, "Did you know him at all?"

The room fell silent for a moment, accentuating the clamor of slamming drawers, shuffling cloth, and zipping zippers that originated from the bedroom. When Snape finally responded, it was in a steady, measured voice. "Yes, since I was a boy. Lucius was six years ahead of me at Hogwarts, already a prefect when I arrived." Laying down the newspaper, he retrieved his cup of tea from the end table and brought it to his lips.

With her eyes still fixed on the greyscale convict, Athena asked, "Were you friends?"

Only after Snape had returned the cup to its saucer with a clink did he continue. "I considered him my friend, but I was only impressed by his power, and he by my skills in the dark arts. While my views eventually changed, his did not…he remained as arrogant and manipulative as ever…" As his voice trailed off and his eyes fell to the paper in contemplation, his staid face betrayed no inner thought. When his gaze did leave the page, however, his features hardened considerably, furrows appearing on his previously placid forehead. "But enough of this," he snapped, folding the paper shut.

Taken aback by her father's sudden change from honest to miffed, Athena could only blink in confusion at the wizard, uncertain how to respond. The tension in the air was fortunately short-lived, however, for Hermione soon rushed back into the room in Gryffindor red robes, comb caught in her wild, flailing tresses.

"Well, no time for breakfast," Hermione lamented as she glanced up at the clock. While she had spent only three minutes slipping into her teaching robes, there was insufficient time available for preparing and consuming food. Thus as she hurried by Severus' armchair, she seized his pumpkin tea and began sipping it as fast as its warm temperature would allow.

A scowl of the most irritable degree quickly overcame Severus' features, forming a deep crevice between his scrunched brows. Pivoting slightly in the armchair, he turned his neck until he was able to see his wife by the fireplace. She paid his displeased scowl no mind, however, as she set the teacup down on the mantel and peered into the clock face that had just transformed into a mirror.

"Yes my dear, of course you may finish my favorite tea," Severus drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Hermione peered intensely into the clock-mirror, gritting her teeth as she attempted to free the comb from its tangled prison. "Sorry Severus, but I have no time for your snark right now," she dismissed, giving the comb a strong tug which finally liberated it. After an examination of the tousled rat's nest that she called hair, she released a sigh and fished out a hairband from her pocket. "Besides, you can always get another cup – you don't teach until eleven," the witch observed, struggling to wind the curls up into a reasonably sized bun.

While the magical clock had adopted a mirror-like surface to show Hermione exactly how intolerably her curls were behaving, it retained its hands and numbers. After a quick glance at the time, Severus turned back in his seat with the statement, "You have more than enough time. It is only eight thirty-four."

Focusing intently on her reflection, Hermione tied the thick hairband around an extra time before refocusing on the clock hands. "Oh, I suppose you're right," she allowed, gently testing the security of her bun by giving it a few pats. Satisfied with its messy but stable state, she then turned to her daughter, her haste suddenly dissolving into nonchalance. "How have lessons been, Athena?"

With a noncommittal grunt, Severus reopened his newspaper, flipping to a verbose description of the Ministry's efforts in slowing the overharvesting of Leaping Toadstools. Athena hopped off the armchair beside him and replied, "Great!" As she bent to pick up her book bag, however, she spent a moment in conflicted contemplation, biting her lip and furrowing her brow. Slinging the bag across her shoulder, she muttered, "Well, except for yesterday…"

Attempting to tuck a stray curl back into her bun, Hermione paused when she noticed the perceptible change in Athena's voice. The girl's eager verve had been replaced by dejection that Hermione observed clearly on her frown. "What happened?" the mother asked in concern.

The black-haired girl again bit her lip as she considered her response. As a new Hogwarts student, Athena sorely wished to show her parents that she was mature and above childish emotions, and yet the note incident still weighed heavily on her mind. Yes, she had given the matter a good cry after hastening out of the Potions dungeon, but she had composed herself in time to attend the afternoon's Transfiguration lesson. Homework had kept her mind occupied during the evening and well into the night, repressing the uncomfortable memories until they promptly returned at her mother's casual question. While she had spent her fill of tears on the subject, she could not repress the glumness that seeped into her voice. "It's nothing really, I just found a rude note caught in my hair," she explained, fiddling with her book bag strap. "I don't know where it came from or how long it was there. Professor Jareth told me about it after Potions."

"A rude note?" Hermione asked, her voice colored with confusion and concern. "What did it say?" While she tried to remain the levelheaded mother, Hermione could feel her anger rising as she waited for Athena to respond, imagining what jeers students might aim at her daughter. Having been called "Mudblood" many times during her childhood, she wondered if the note had anything to do with her daughter's bloodline; for while the Dark Lord had been defeated and acceptance was heavily promoted, there always remained those who held the view of pureblood superiority.

Running a hand through her curly black locks, Athena tried to keep her voice steady as she replied, "It said 'wash me.'"

The loud crunch of crumbling parchment instantly followed the girl's answer. Behind her the father still sat, nose no longer buried in the _Daily Prophet_ as the wrinkled newspaper was released from his taut grip.

Despite the rather loud disturbance, Hermione's attention remained fixed on Athena, dark eyebrows curling up to deepen the puzzlement on her features. "' _Wash me?'_ " she repeated. "Whatever does that mean?"

"I –"

Before Athena could offer her interpretations of the odd message, a deep, slick voice emanated from the armchair. "It means that someone believes she has inherited my 'greasy' hair, Hermione," Severus stated, anger boiling deep beneath the surface of his sedate tones. Pausing in a moment of contemplation, he laced his fingers together as his eyes, while surrounded by staid features, flashed with malice. "How very much like his father is Mr. Lupin..." The name dripped off his tongue like a serpent's venom.

Taken aback by her husband's conclusion, Hermione took a moment to study Severus, detecting all the subtle signs of acrimony that she had learned to recognize in the imperturbable mask he attempted to don around their child. Releasing a sigh, Hermione cast a quick glance at the clock before deciding that there was time enough to debate him. "Severus, you can't always assume that Teddy is behind every act of mischief," she contended, steadying the aggravation in her voice. "It could have been anyone – even Peeves!"

As Severus' gaze locked fixedly upon his wife, he folded his arms stubbornly across the many buttons of his frock coat. "Yet I am entirely certain that it was Mr. Lupin's handiwork which insulted our daughter."

Recognizing the beginning of another dispute between her parents, Athena remained silent, falling back a few paces to escape from their unpleasant glares' line of fire. Even if she had wished to join their verbal sparring, the girl's mind was now too focused on her father's hypothesis, recalling her introduction to Teddy the previous morning.

With a hand planted firmly on her hip, Hermione raised her eyebrows challengingly at her husband. "And how do you know this?" she questioned.

"Because his father once pulled the same unimaginative gag on me," Severus responded, furrows erupting on his forehead. Beneath his aggravated tones Hermione could hear the distinct sound of bitterness, indicating that the fifty-two year-old man still clung tenaciously to schoolboy grudges.

While Severus shared his school memories as often as he enjoyed staff meetings, Hermione currently spared no sympathy for the man who so greatly relished tormenting Harry's godson. While their conflict had been seemingly resolved the previous night, the tension between them was still quite apparent as Hermione failed to understand her ambiguous husband's fluctuating moods. "That might just be a coincidence. How would Teddy even know about that?" she demanded, allowing more vexation into her words.

"Oh, I am sure it was part of the legacy his father left behind," Severus rejoined through his teeth, allowing bitterness to color his words. Rancor was displayed prominently on his features, dancing in his eyes and clamping up his jaw, until he caught Athena's concerned gaze and re-donned his somber mask. "How he knows of it is not my concern. How he will be punished, however, is _greatly_ my concern." he informed Hermione, rigid severity replacing his passion. Lifting up a hand, he continued, "Do not beg me to spare the boy, Hermione, for while I can tolerate his usual antics, I will not allow him to insult my daughter."

"Father, it's all right!" Athena tried to interject, but her voice was effectively drowned out by her mother's insistent tones.

"But you still don't have enough proof to convict him!"

"I have sufficient proof," Severus articulated, his crisp consonants serving both to end the conversation and warn her not to proceed. With lids half closed he bestowed a condescending glare on her, a look that had last been employed when she was still his irksome student. "Now isn't there a lesson you're supposed to be teaching?"

While Hermione returned his glower with fiery brown eyes, she glanced at the clock and realized that she hadn't the time to argue. After hastily slinging her book bag over her shoulder and beckoning Athena, she was nearly out the door when she turned back and exclaimed, "We'll continue this discussion later!"

Dashing swiftly through the corridors with Athena at her heels, it was with great vexation that Hermione wondered why she could hardly maintain peace with Severus anymore.

* * *

Occupied with teaching her new class of Gryffindors, Hermione's agitation quickly gave way to her usual blend of strictness and helpfulness, all thoughts of Severus pushed to the backburner of her mind. Lecturing on the history of the Levitating Charm readily returned a smile to her face as she strolled up and down the rows of first year Gryffindors. This was perhaps one of her favorite groups to teach, for their bright, awestruck faces always brought to mind the wonder she had experienced her first year.

Once Athena recovered from the embarrassment of rushing to the classroom with her mother, the black-haired girl began to thoroughly enjoy her first Charms lesson. There was nothing like a good lesson to distract the mind from its troubles. While she didn't find the subject as utterly riveting as Potions, there was still much wonder to be had from levitating feathers into the air. As Professor Granger explained, it was somewhat of a tradition to begin the year with a room full of floating feathers and " _Wingardium Leviosa"_ chants, for Professor Flitwick had always started his first years with the Levitating Charm.

As it was expected, the room was not immediately overrun by airborne feathers after Hermione concluded her lecture and allowed the students to practice. There were many frustrated groans and gross mispronunciations that the professor was more than happy to correct, taking care not to sound too condescending to the more sensitive of struggling students.

When a feather finally did take flight, Professor Granger was surprised to find that it did not belong to Athena. Since Hermione had been the first in her class to correctly perform the charm, she had just assumed that her daughter would follow in her footsteps. Nevertheless, it was Molly Weasley to first levitate her feather, not very surprising considering that she was Percy's daughter. Athena was not far behind in her success, however, using her dogwood and unicorn hair wand to gracefully elevate the feather before her. Pride spread across the face of the mother who still attempted to remain an impartial teacher despite her large grin.

As more feathers danced about like fluffy, oblong snowflakes, Hermione continued to wander around the classroom, stopping to assist more than one student whose feather remained obstinately on their desk. While she usually maintained strict control of the noise level, she allowed her new students to chatter amongst themselves as long as they worked, seeing no need to frighten them during their first lesson. Topics usually consisted of their "bloody buttload" of Defense homework on which they were procrastinating, or the dreadfully dull and nearly deaf Professor Publius. When students spoke of their intimidating Defense teacher, however, Hermione remained adamant in dismissing vexing thoughts, knowing that pondering the argument with her husband would only bring distraction. Thus she preferred to listen to Fred Weasley's cries of joy as his feather finally tottered into the air.

Hermione was in the middle of assisting Clayton Poste, the last student who had yet to make his feather behave, when a chorus of screams sounded from the corridor. The scrape of chairs and bustle of bodies immediately followed the shrill disturbance as students made to follow their teacher to the door. But as she grabbed the ancient nob, Professor Granger turned back to them with a stern visage.

"Stay seated. I'll be right back," Hermione commanded. With a creak of the hinges she was gone, the door closing slightly ajar behind her.

Hermione didn't need to venture far from the Charms classroom to locate the source of the scream; immediately upon entering the corridor, she was welcomed by a group of second year Gryffindor girls, a startled Teddy Lupin, and a very livid, furrow-faced Snape. After observing the sheer terror that was painted upon the girls' faces, Hermione noticed that the floor was littered with grey fur, seemingly the end of a steady trail that emerged from behind the corner.

"What is going on here?" Hermione wanted to know.

While Teddy made an attempt to reply as he cast his troubled gaze to Professor Granger, he was instantly silenced by the irate Defense teacher. "There is no need to get involved, Professor Granger. I will handle this," Snape nearly growled, anger seething behind clenched teeth. Once his fiery black eyes had left his wife, they fixed keenly upon the Hufflepuff boy before him. "Mr. Lupin, I do not know what your grandmother tolerates at home, nor what behaviors your godfather encourages, but know that Hogwarts has _never_ permitted its students to traipse around the corridors as _werewolves!_ Nor does it look favorably uponterrorizing students!" As his voice raised to volumes very atypical of the usually composed professor, a vein protruded prominently from his wrinkled forehead.

While Teddy attempted to quell the anger that was quickly igniting within him, it was evident to any observer that he was experiencing great difficulty, for the tips of hair became tinged with bright crimson. "I thought this hall was empty!" he insisted in less than respectful tones. "I didn't know they were there!" An arm flew up to indicate the huddle of wide-eyed Gryffindor girls.

Provoked by the boy's insolent manner, Severus Snape's already flammable fury continued to grow. "Lies will not lessen your punishment!" he barked, greasy hair falling in his face. As his seething tones echoed throughout the corridor, Snape must have realized the intensity of his temper and sought to regain control of his composure, taking purposeful breaths as he resituated his hair. "Hogwarts may not have rules established regarding your little parlor tricks, but that in no way grants you permission to do as you please," he continued. While his voice had certainly lost its volatile volume, it remained just as deadly with its repressed rage.

As if in response to his professor's change in tone, Teddy's anger likewise became more restrained, the bright crimson fading from his hair. "Honestly, Professor Snape, I didn't mean to bother anyone!" he maintained, adopting a more respectful tone. "I was just practicing…" His voice faded away as he cast his eyes about him, observing the scattered fur with a frown.

The calculating, serpent-like Snape had undoubtedly returned, for the professor allowed more than a few moments to pass before he spoke. "Do you believe that being a metamorphmagus excuses you from attending your lessons, Lupin?" he asked the boy, voice dripping with cynicism. Folding his arms across his chest, he peered down his long, prodigious nose at Teddy.

Meeting Snape's gaze with fearless brown eyes, Teddy replied, "I don't have any lessons this hour, sir."

"Very well." As Professor Snape paused in contemplation, his obsidian eyes glinted with sort of dark pleasure that made Teddy and the spectating Gryffindors uneasy. "The hall is no place for wandering students. Although neither is my office, I will try to make an exception for you," he sneered, that glint again flashing in his eyes. "You will now spend your free hour there – as well as nights – proving to me that you _can_ distinguish between a newt's eye and its tail. Your last detention suggested otherwise." While his voice retained its measured pace, the stoniness of his features gave way to deep creases as he again spoke. "And when you're finished with that, you may begin your punishment for that little trick you played on my daughter."

While Teddy attempted to remain stalwart in the face of his unreasonably cruel professor, Snape's words caught him off guard, causing a look of surprise to flash across his features.

The pleasure at witnessing his suspect's telltale reaction tugged at Snape's lips, curling his mouth into a hideous sneer. "Surprised? Now you didn't truly believe I would not recognize your handiwork, did you, Lupin?" he asked derisively, annunciating the boy's name with his signature scoff.

Bereft of words, the Hufflepuff's eyes immediately left Snape's malicious gaze and returned to the floor. As resolution melted from his features, Teddy cast a quick glance at Professor Granger but could not gauge her reaction. While his new aspect appeared startled and possibly uncomfortable, there was no shame in the frown that settled firmly upon his mouth. "Whatever. I already finished cleaning that bloody toilet, I doubt it could get worse," he muttered.

Triumph was etched in every crevice on Snape's face as he raised an eyebrow. "There you are quite mistaken, Mr. Lupin. Do not test me," he warned, his baritone deep and threatening. Gesturing abruptly to the boy, he ordered, "Now come," before starting down the corridor.

"Wait."

Severus Snape had only taken a few steps before a voice halted him. Whirling around in visible aggravation, he met the dogged stance and formidable eyes of his wife. While Hermione's hair was pulled back from her eyes, there was a perceptible shadow playing upon her furrowed forehead.

"Begging your pardon, Professor Snape, but seeing as it was my Gryffindors that Mr. Lupin frightened, I believe I should be the one to decide punishment," Hermione stated firmly, her forced decorum working only to emphasize her displeasure. While her eyebrows were lowered in great vexation, her voice and her gaze remained unflappably steady, proving to the students around her that Snape was not the only professor who had mastered formidable, contained anger.

After overcoming his surprise at her challenge, Snape scowled darkly at the contending professor. "That is absurd," he responded. While his vexation had certainly been inflamed by his wife's interruption, he still maintained perfect control of his countenance. "They are your students" – pointing at the Gryffindors – "but _he_ is not." His arm, after gesturing to Teddy, joined his other arm in folding across his chest.

"Neither is he yours," Hermione countered, voice still as low and inexorable. "Unless you wish to wake Professor Publius from his nap, then the duty of disciplining Mr. Lupin falls on me." Despite the vicious glare that promised much flak from her husband later, Hermione remained tenacious in her pursuit to rescue Teddy from an unjust punishment. Regardless of the unknown force that was rendering Severus so irascible, she would not allow him to project his rage onto the boy.

Recognizing his wife's unyielding obstinacy, Severus raised a brow to meet her challenge. "And how would _you_ punish a boy for transforming into a murderous animal in the middle of the corridor?" he inquired, the slightest of condescension in his tone.

Teddy Lupin's lanky frame gave a quick jolt but he remained silent.

Folding her arms across her chest to mirror her husband's stance, Hermione glanced at Teddy before returning Snape's glare. "He will spend his free hour in my class every week, assisting me with marking assignments and with class activities," she replied decisively.

The vein on Snape's forehead throbbed. "That is hardly an appropriate punishment, Professor Granger," he commented, some of his vexation escaping its bonds.

Feeling that Snape was at too great a distance to experience her full gravity, Hermione took a step closer, eyes glowing intensely. "Regardless of your opinion, _Professor Snape_ , this is the punishment I choose," she maintained, tone rising as her equanimity likewise began to weaken. "Mr. Lupin's time would be much better spent in my classroom than doing Merlin-knows-what in your office."

To every rapt student in the corridor, it appeared that the couple, with vicious glares and tense frames, so desperately wished to argue with more fervor but withheld themselves for propriety's sake.

Against Hermione's absolute tenacity, there was but one weapon in Severus Snape's arsenal – condescension. He knew that if he could reduce her to feeling like a child, the high and mighty Professor Granger would thus adopt childish behavior, giving him the upper hand. "If I recall correctly, Professor Granger, _you_ were once not so averse to detentions in my office," he sneered, eyes gleaming with derision.

While Hermione's anger flashed momentarily upon her face, she did not respond with the wild fury for which Severus had been aiming. Her features immediately reorganized themselves into stony severity as she stated, "Nevertheless my decision stands." She allowed her eyes to stay locked challengingly upon her husband for a few more seconds before turning away. "Now come with me, Mr. Lupin," she instructed.

As Professor Granger opened the Charms room door with more force than intended, a handful of first year Gryffindors instantly flew back from the threshold and scurried to their desks. All eyes glanced apprehensively at their professor as she walked back up to the front of the classroom, her perfect composure in stark contrast to the loud argument they had just overheard. They were decidedly glad that it was Professor Granger, _not_ Professor Snape, who was in their classroom at the moment. They could only imagine what horrors the next person to cross Snape would face.

Once Teddy had entered the chamber, the students' attentions were no longer occupied by their professor as they curiously observed the older boy. With a blank expression set upon his face, Teddy ignored their stares as he followed Professor Granger to the front, where he was then introduced to the class and assigned a desk near the left wall. Once she had placed a stack of parchments before him, Hermione instructed the students to continue practicing the Levitating Charm and went to again assist Clayton Poste.

It was with a mixture of embarrassment and sadness that Athena returned to halfheartedly levitating her feather. While she hated when her parents argued so often, the fact that her classmates had heard every word only worsened the situation. The girl could only hope that they had not caught her father's allusion to the note prank…

As Athena's eyes drifted up to the boy seated by the wall, his ginger head bent in concentration over the stack of papers, and a quill pen in his hand, she couldn't help but frown.

* * *

The remainder of the Charms lesson had passed without further ado. After assigning the students what she considered a light amount of homework, Hermione had dismissed the class, leaving her in silent solitude. As she glanced up from the notes she had been preparing for her fifth year Slytherins, however, she noticed that she was not alone, for Teddy still remained at his desk, two unequal paper stacks before him. While his quill pen occasionally hit the parchment to make a circle or other mark, he remained generally still as he continued reviewing the papers.

Approaching the desk, Hermione saw that the larger stack of parchment consisted of fully marked assignments from her second year Ravenclaws, brief essays on Counter-Spells that had been completed over the summer. "You may go now," she told him, drawing his attention from the paper he was reviewing. "I don't want to make you late for your next lesson."

Dropping his gaze, Teddy relinquished his pen and pushed the papers aside. "Yes, Professor." As he began to quietly pack up, Hermione noted with interest that his manner seemed quite subdued, a demeanor noticeably different for the usually spirited fourth year.

Teddy had risen from his chair and was grabbing his book bag when Hermione spoke. "Teddy, why were you a werewolf in the corridor?" she asked with the same exasperation as a mother who had caught her son in the mud. "This situation could have turned out far worse if I hadn't been there." A wisp of hair fell from her precarious bun as she shook her head.

As he set his book bag on the desk, the Hufflepuff's lips drooped into a frown as something akin to shame appeared on his face. "I was just practicing my werewolf transformation," he answered dourly. Avoiding the disappointed gaze of his favorite professor, Teddy's eyes fixed staunchly on a crack in the desk's surface. "Nearly got it this time, 'cept for the shedding…" he muttered, brushing stray fur from his sweater.

Hermione, infusing her voice with both kindness and sternness, continued, "I don't think that was a wise decision, Teddy, especially not at school. Werewolves are taken quite seriously around here. When those girls saw you, how were they to know you were just a metamorphmagus?" As she concluded her question, the professor allowed more gentleness to color her tone. Although inside the classroom she showed no favoritism to the boy, she could not help but treat the orphan as one of her own outside of lessons. This matter especially warranted gentleness, for she had a strong hunch as to why the boy had chosen to learn that particular transformation.

When Teddy finally met Hermione's eyes, it was with slight aggravation as he defensively replied, "Like I said, I didn't know they were there. And I changed right back when I saw them!"

"Nevertheless, you mustn't perform that transformation again," Hermione stated firmly, her tone readopting its teacher-like strictness. As Teddy grew silent, however, she returned to her gentler voice as she added, "You or someone else could get hurt."

The Charms classroom fell into a pervasive silence as the Hufflepuff boy lowered his gaze. The overgrown locks that fell over his eyes, Hermione noticed, had made a subtle change, now bearing a light brown hue that bore great similarity to his late father's hair.

Hermione allowed the silence to drag on for a few more moments before speaking. "Teddy, if you can promise me you won't change into a werewolf again at Hogwarts, then I will see to it that the Headmistress doesn't hear of this," she offered gently. Her features then took on a somber aspect as she continued, "But if she becomes involved, I'm afraid I can't help you."

Detecting the sober earnestness in Hermione's words, Teddy reluctantly muttered, "Fine, I promise…"

"Good," Hermione said with an approving nod. As she observed the boy before her, she tried not to contemplate how difficult it would be to prevent her husband from informing McGonagall about the incident.

Brushing the light brown strands from his eyes, Teddy retrieved his book bag from the desk and slung it across his shoulder. As he began his way to the door, however, Hermione's words again stopped him.

"Now one more thing," the professor called. Once Teddy had pivoted around to face her, she donned a considerably serious expression. "Did you stick that note in my daughter's hair?"

One glimpse of Hermione's returned displeasure sent Teddy's eyes in search for a different target. There was a moment of silence as he visibly contemplated, his hair returning to its natural color. "…I reckoned it'd be funny," he answered softly. As his voice trailed away, his fingers began drumming lightly on the nearest desk.

Folding her arms across her chest, Hermione appeared ever the strict teacher as she frowned at the Hufflepuff fourth year. "Unfortunately she did not think so," she stated.

As Teddy continued to avoid his Charms professor's gaze, it became evident that he did indeed feel ashamed, or at least embarrassed. It was with crimson cheeks that he muttered, "Sorry." As his fingers continued their nervous drumming, the ginger-haired boy fell silent, awaiting his sentence. While it surely would not be as horrible as the terrors Snape had tried to inflict on him, the boy was certain that the displeased Professor Granger would think up something more unpleasant than his current punishment of working as her assistant.

Though her rigid spine relaxed slightly, Hermione was by no means satisfied. "I'd like you to tell her that next time you see her," she instructed, the sternness of her tone allowing for no opposition.

Teddy's fingers fell still in relief as he obediently replied, "Yes, Professor." When no further words issued from Professor Granger, indicating that she did not desire further punishment, the boy's lanky frame relaxed. While his teacher's stern expression held firm, he could clearly detect a softening in her eyes that put him at ease. On the verge of turning to leave, the boy suddenly recalled a question he had been meaning to ask her. "Have you heard from Harry?" he inquired, taking a step closer. "He hasn't returned any of my owls."

As she surveyed the perceptible anxiety in the Hufflepuff's eyes, Hermione's stony mask crumbled and her own concern became apparent. "No, I'm afraid I haven't either," she admitted. As her words were followed by another stretch of silence, thoughts that had been eclipsed by more pressing matters returned to her. It had been nearly two months since she had last received an owl from either Harry or Ron, and while she usually reminded herself of how hectic their lives had become, those excuses could no longer assuage her apprehension. However, there was no reason why the fourteen year-old Teddy need bear that anxiety. Curving her lips into a smile, she took a step closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But don't worry, I'm sure he'll write soon," she reassured him. "He must be dreadfully busy at the Ministry with the escaped Death Eaters."

After giving the issue some thought, Teddy's demeanor seemed to brighten. "I suppose so," he agreed.

While his usual vigor had not retuned, there was a certain glimmer in his eye that assured Hermione that the boy would soon regain his spirit. Satisfied with the improvement, she kindly urged him to leave, desiring to keep him no longer from his next lesson.

Once Teddy had left the classroom, closing the heavy door with a thud that resonated throughout the chamber, Hermione retreated to her desk. With a textbook before her and a quill in hand, she found solace in the note-covered pages as she buried all cumbersome concerns deep under a pile of parchment.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _In light of the recent tragic event, it was quite difficult to write the second argument in this chapter. Still, there is also something kind of comforting in writing because just as Snape will live on forever in our fanfiction, beloved Alan Rickman will live forever in our hearts…always._

 _I really didn't mean to make Severus and Hermione argue so much in this chapter. It just kinda worked out that way. It's just their stubborn natures I guess. And that little secret that Severus is keeping. But onto another topic…_

 _ **Hey readers,**_ _I could really use your help! I'm planning to tackle Hermione's birthday in a couple chapters, but I have no idea what Severus should give her as a gift. If you have any ideas, please leave a review and let me know. I'd love to hear from you. :)_

 _(Fun fact: I proofread my chapters out loud so I can catch more mistakes. As I was proofreading this chapter, I couldn't bear to read Snape's lines in my impersonation of him, so I replaced it with a whiny "but I was going into Tosche Station to pick up some power converters!" Luke Skywalker voice. Kinda lightened the mood.)_


	7. Return to Normalcy

Chapter 7 – Return to Normalcy

Describing Severus and Hermione's discussion that night as an argument would have been a gross understatement.

Hermione had expected his displeasure at her meddling, fully prepared for an evening of acerbic sneers or silent treatment. What she had not expected was for Severus to storm into their quarters after dinner, temper ignited and ready to explode. While his manner was similar to the visible anger he had displayed upon finding Teddy, in the confines of their quarters he did not hold back, abandoning all composure for the sake of chastising his wife. He spared no harsh word or barbed derision in his attempts to reduce her to a child, continually calling her "Miss Granger" despite her furious protests.

In the face of her husband's unwarranted rage, Hermione could not claim that she had behaved blamelessly. Acid scorn was repaid with indignant insinuations that drove the wedge of misunderstanding deeper between them. Accusations were sent whirling around the sitting room and reverberated off the walls, Severus insisting that Hermione constantly undermined him, while Hermione claiming that he was behaving like a cruel tyrant. While she attempted to state Teddy's case, relaying her suspicions as to why the boy had morphed into a werewolf, the wizard refused to listen, immediately rejecting her hypothesis and deeming her ridiculous.

Hermione could not understand why her husband was responding with such vehemence. Her interference in the Teddy incident had been but one of many times she had challenged Severus over the years. The surly man was typically most displeased by her interferences, but his outrage at the current matter seemed quite excessive. Even though he had subtracted a considerable amount of points from Hufflepuff, his ire was far from assuaged. Stating that he was overreacting, however, only served to add kindling to the fire.

After an interminable length of loud, heated discourse which the paintings in the hall had undoubtedly overheard, the dispute was ultimately ended when Severus stormed out of their quarters, black robes billowing menacingly behind him.

It was no surprise that Severus Snape did not return that night, leaving Hermione to struggle vainly in pursuit of sleep. Thoughts refused to relinquish her mind, whirling around in a manner that promised another sleepless night. While she could have kept tabs on her incomprehensible husband with the Marauder's Map, the exasperated witch had no desire to do so. Burying her head beneath a mound of pillows, she released a disgruntled sigh. Just when the tension had abated and it appeared their relationship would return to normalcy, another altercation had to occur.

But wasn't that pattern the actual normalcy of their relationship? Wasn't it that whenever she thought they were out of the woods, something would always drag them back into the thorny labyrinth of marital strife? It was this question that continually pushed its way to the forefront of Hermione's mind the following morning as she sat in her office, struggling futilely to finish grading the second years' essays. While small, the stack of unmarked parchment had not decreased in size since she had sat down at her desk nearly half an hour earlier.

Even when Hermione was successful in repressing the distracting doubts that invaded her mind, it was still considerably difficult to focus on the task at hand. Perhaps her office was not the most conducive atmosphere to forgetting about Severus. Besides the various pictures of him displayed prominently on her desk and bookshelves, the walls were papered with an assortment of newspaper and magazine clippings. While one excerpt consisted of their wedding announcement, most of the pages contained articles once featured in the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ , slanderous stories written by Rita Skeeter in 1999.

With headlines such as "Severus Snape and Hermione Granger: Scandalous Teacher-Student Affair" and moving photos of a furtive lip-lock, why had Hermione plastered these news clippings proudly on the walls? While it was partially because the trademark gross exaggerations of Rita Skeeter proved quite amusing, the artifacts also served as a symbol of triumph; a reminder that if their relationship could survive a media storm and court trial, it could survive anything.

Despite what salacious escapades the countless headlines suggested, Hermione had never partaken in a clandestine relationship with her dark, intriguing professor. While the girl's feelings had been revealed by the creation of the Fortaffectuspotion, Professor Snape in no way enfolded her into his billowy black robes and declared passionate love after he recovered, regardless of how the sappy part of Hermione's mind had secretly wished that. It was not as though Severus entertained no pleasant feelings for the girl, for after years of enduring her company during the private, advanced Potions lessons Dumbledore had insisted upon, he could not deny that an attachment had formed. She was still his student, however, rendering any form of intimacy impossible.

Although Hermione had been offered various Ministry jobs after the end of the war, she had firmly refused them. A staunch believer in education, she remained at Hogwarts for another year to earn her N.E.W.T.s, despite Ron and Harry's decision to join the Auror force. Not long after the start of term did Professor Flitwick, noticing the girl's talent in Charms, offer her an apprenticeship, setting her on the path to replace him once he retired. But while Hermione juggled arduous N.E.W.T. preparation and Charms training, she somehow found the time to continue her evening Potions lessons with her favorite professor.

When Severus Snape ultimately succumbed to the realization that Hermione had taken up permanent resident in his heart, he was far from pleased; terrified would have been a more appropriate description. Even though their stimulating conversations easily traversed the twenty years between them, the professor was well aware of Hogwarts' policy on student-teacher relationships. If any abnormal involvement between them became known – and he was certain it would – then the least of their consequences would be his termination and her expulsion. Thus he vowed to brutally stifle all dangerous feelings regarding the girl.

As the year progressed, however, Snape's resolution proved much easier in theory than in practice. After a jarring incident during one of their private lessons in which he had derived too much pleasure from looming menacingly over Hermione as she worked, he immediately terminated their Potions sessions and staunchly avoided the bothersome creature. Although his mind was tenacious, his heart seemed less adamant, leading him to occasionally show his own subtle brand of kindness to the young woman who he begrudgingly adored. These rare moments only served to remind Hermione why she was so ardently in love with her sullen professor. When he atoned for his weakness by treating her unnecessarily cruel in his classroom, however, she was rendered less certain of her own sanity.

While Hermione's heart seemed caught in an unforgiving whirlwind as she was constantly teased with hope and tortured with despair, it all became worth it at the end of her final term. Not long after she had officially graduated, shedding her identity as a Hogwarts student like a robe, did Snape seek her out.

If a curious inquirer asked Snape today, nearly thirteen years later, what strange force had driven him to bare the most vulnerable fragment of his soul to Hermione, he would not have been able to answer, even if he was surprisingly willing. Some way or another, the confession had simply slipped out of the incredibly buttoned-up man, ultimately leading to a chaste kiss – just the slightest indulgence of the pair's desires.

As her brown eyes again swept the wall of over embellished articles, Hermione recalled with retrospective amusement the moment their first kiss had been interrupted by the flutter of beetle wings. Although they had not been entirely aware of it at the time, that faint sound was the warning bells of the impending tempest.

Hardly twenty-four hours had elapsed before media outlets were overrun by the "shocking scandal," the _Daily Prophet_ at the forefront of the media blitz while _Witch Weekly_ followed in its shadow, picking up the juicy, more preposterous morsels that the _Prophet_ discarded. Despite the falsity of Rita Skeeter's allegations – for there had been no romance between Snape and Hermione while she was his student, not to mention no "supply closet snogging" that Pansy Parkinson claimed she observed during her fifth year – the Ministry was forced to try Severus Snape, suspending him from teaching until a verdict had been decided.

Fortunately for the Severus, no solid evidence that proved their relationship began prior to Hermione's graduation could be produced. Although Snape had been acquitted and was then free to continue pursuing the young woman, the tempest did not end there. While the couple did not allow the continuing media storm to vex them, drawing amusement from the raunchy and wholly fabricated tidbits, Hermione was greatly affected by the reactions of her friends and family. While Harry and Ron had been previously aware of Hermione's ridiculous and "mental" feelings, they were far from enthused about the development in her relationship with Snape, who would forever be a greasy dungeon bat to Ron.

Even the shock and opposition from her friends, however, eventually blew over. When they had finally passed unscathed through the tempest, both Hermione and Severus realized that the ordeal only served to increase their feelings and bolster their convictions. It was not soon afterwards that certain events led to their current state of life now, working and dwelling together in both blissful and aggravating matrimony.

Picking up the quill that had fallen during her umpteenth reverie, Hermione tore her eyes away from the newspaper clippings and refocused her mind on her work, hanging tenaciously on to every unpolished word about Counter Spells as if the parchment would be snatched from her at any moment.

After a few tense days in which she saw little of Severus, things finally began to improve for Hermione. During the middle of the following week, the witch returned to her quarters after a particularly trying third year Slytherin lesson to find her husband emerging from the bathroom, dripping wet and quite naked. She had merely meant to fetch him a clean towel, but one thing led to another until the barrier between them crumbled and everything that could not be said with words was expressed in a different manner. While their stubborn natures often caused disagreements, Severus and Hermione were able to agree wholeheartedly that having Athena in Gryffindor Tower was decidedly advantageous.

And just as quickly as strife had entered their marriage, so it left with equal velocity. Pleasant conversations rose up to fill the once tense silence, and regular interaction took the place of obvious avoidance. Although this new, happier state was indeed preferable to furious debates or caustic glares, it was not to say that their relationship had reverted entirely to how it had once been. There were moments when Severus, whether retiring to their quarters or passing her in the corridor, appeared especially agitated. There were also nights in which Hermione would wake to find her husband absent, only to locate him on the Marauder's Map replica, pacing inexplicably about the castle. While ever the concerned wife, Hermione ceased confronting him about the issue, desiring sorely that amity remain between them.

A few days after peace had been restored to the Snape household, another burden was lifted from Hermione's mind when a tawny owl greeted her at breakfast. Retrieving the letters from the pouch on the squawking bird's leg, she lost all desire to listen to Severus' opinions on the dryness of his scrambled eggs when she recognized the familiar scrawl on two letters addressed to her. Finally, after what seemed like decades, her best friends had written her.

Despite the probable overabundance of stories that Ron and Harry could have shared, their missives were brief. Each explained the events that had transpired, delivering basically the same message but in their own distinctive styles. After profuse apologizes for their silence, they explained that they had both been in Ireland for the past two months, locating and apprehending a gang of Dark Wizards that had been terrorizing the country. Although news of the Death Eaters' escape had quickly reached their ears, they had not been able to return to England immediately, their duties in Ireland still incomplete. Because of this, Harry had been forced to run the Auror Office remotely from Ireland, his extra workload leaving no time for personal letter writing. Ron had likewise been occupied on the field, wholly absorbed in tracking the Dark Wizard gang.

After another handful of apologizes, both Ron and Harry ended their letters with promises that they would return home soon.

* * *

Once the first week of term had concluded, the following fortnight passed quite placidly for Athena Snape. Although becoming a Hogwarts student brought considerable change, she was able to adapt rather quickly and fall into the rhythm of her schedule, planning her studying around it accordingly. True to her parentage, the girl spent the majority of her hours on school work, curled up in the common room or in some corner of the library.

Although she had adjusted to her new, structured life, there were a few facets of Hogwarts that did not live up to Athena's high expectations. She didn't really know what she had expected from her fellow students, but being a target of Teddy Lupin's pranks had certainly come as a surprise. But just when she had readied herself to expect it, the fourth year approached her after Charms one day to apologize. It was a simple, stoical apology, but an apology nonetheless. Though she ceased checking her hair constantly for further rude notes after that instance, she could not help but be wary in his presence, watching him from the corner of her eye as he marked papers in her mother's classroom.

Another aspect of Hogwarts that managed to disappoint the overzealous student was surprisingly Potions. Although entering the classroom each lesson with high hopes for her favorite subject, expecting to adore the experience, Athena soon found herself dissatisfied with how the lessons progressed – or did _not_ progress as she saw it. Forgetting that her father's vast store of potion knowledge had rendered her unusually prepared for the subject, she considered the pace Professor Jareth took the class to be sluggish and at times boring, although she did find the teacher's enthusiasm inspiring. While she enjoyed assisting the others in potions she had brewed countless times (unaware of how much they may or may not enjoy her assistance), she admitted to feeling unchallenged in what she had expected to be her favorite class. Nevertheless, she devoted great effort to class activities and assignments, attempting to squeeze as much knowledge from the beginner class as possible.

While she treated her homework with the same devotion as her mother had, Athena did pull her nose out of her books occasionally to take a turn about the grounds with Fred and Molly. Though the September rains had abated, leaving the weather clement and perfect for strolling, the presence of the Aurors seemed to slightly dampen the sunshine. While they had been stationed at every entrance to Hogwarts and hardly ever wandered within its boundaries, the Dark Wizard catchers were a reminder to those who encountered them that there were dangerous villains at large.

Despite this ominous feeling that occasionally crept upon their minds, the students began to relax when day after the day, the _Daily Prophet_ arrived with no horrible news about the Death Eaters. It was unfortunate that they had not been apprehended, yes, but also a relief that they had not yet caused any mischief. This was perhaps not very fortunate for the _Prophet_ however, for with the unsurprising calm that followed, the reporters began grasping at straws, publishing farfetched articles with blurry shots of what was claimed to be the silhouette of a Death Eater disappearing into the crowd, while in reality looked like the average wizard walking down the street. Although the news stories were far from credible, various rumors circulated throughout the school, many to which gullible ears readily fell prey.

Gryffindors as they were, neither Athena nor the Weasley cousins allowed the tales to trouble them. Both Molly and Athena were usually too occupied with their studies to even hear the gossip, despite Fred's fascinated summation of the rumors he had overheard. Unfortunately for the dark-haired Weasley boy, not even Emmet Agnew's theory about the Death Eaters' goals of house-elf genocide seemed to pique the girls' interests as they buried their noses in equally large and dull-looking tomes.

A Tuesday afternoon found Molly, Fred, and Athena seated around a book-laden table in one corner of the library, poring over dusty volumes and note-covered scrolls. As the Weasley girl scribbled away on a piece of parchment and her cousin lazily scanned the pages of a leather-bound book, Athena shut the sizeable tome she had been perusing with a heavy thud and placed it on the tall, precarious looking stack in the middle of the table.

Bristling at the loud, disruptive noise, Molly lifted her eyes from her work with mild annoyance dancing upon her features. "Nothing yet?" she asked with a little huff that sounded equally amused and aggravated.

Picking the next candidate from a shorter stack beside her, Athena plopped the hefty book down and began rapidly flipping through its moth-eaten pages. "Nope," she answered, her mouth set in a firm line of concentration.

Laying down her quill, Molly brushed a stray ginger strand from her face as she shook her head. "You don't need to be so particular, Athena. Just pick a potion," she urged.

As another book was closed and rejected by the black-haired witch, a cloud of dust arose from its pages and wafted towards Fred. The book from which he had been peering up immediately fell from his hands as he stifled a cough. "Yeah!" he agreed after another good hack. "Blimey, Athena, we _only_ have two weeks left, after all. Stop procrastinating." As he rested his cheek on his hand, his broad smile radiated sarcasm.

Although she was quite aware of Fred's joking manner, Athena still did not relish being accused of what her mother taught her to despise. "I'm not procrastinating!" she insisted indignantly, lifting her chin. "I just haven't found the perfect potion yet... It's not that simple." As she lowered her chin, her gaze flitted to Molly's near complete essay about Cure for Boils, a potion Professor Jareth had demonstrated during their second lesson. While the Weasley girl had chosen the subject of her project weeks ago, Athena could not seem to find a potion she deemed appropriate for the assignment, despite her earnest efforts. All of her own potions books had been thoroughly raided, and if the library did not hold the information she sought, she would scour her father's collection next.

As Athena delved into another vast volume of potion knowledge, a smirk spread across Fred's face. "Yeah it is!" he replied. "Just do this!" Leaning closer to the girl, Fred shut his eyes and whirled his index finger in the air for a few seconds before letting it fall randomly on the open book. Then, opening his eyes, he examined the page where his finger had fallen. "There! Draught of Living Death. Sounds easy enough."

Rolling her eyes, Athena removed Fred's hand from her book and scooted out of his reach. "That's a sixth year potion, smarty," she informed, her irritation not wholly devoid of amusement.

"Ought to be no problem for you then," Fred sniggered.

Lifting her eyes from the pages she had been mentally devouring, Athena raised a lofty eyebrow at Fred, appearing quite like her father in that moment. "And what potion have you picked?" she asked in a manner resembling a meddlesome mother.

Waving off Athena's prying, Fred rested his hands comfortably behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "Eh, I'm still deciding," he answered unconcernedly. "I've got time."

Athena eyed Fred's carefree attitude for a moment, recognizing it as an ingrained part of his Weasley ways that no amount of Snape or Granger logic could alter. At his hopeless case of overconfidence, all she could do was smile incredulously as she returned to her search. "Mhm."

Retrieving the book he had dropped, Fred began disinterestedly skimming its ink-covered pages as he replied assuredly, "I'll think of something. Potions isn't nearly as bad as when my mum and dad took it."

As she flipped past disturbing illustrations of the Laxative Potion's effects, Athena couldn't help but mutter, "Now it's too easy…"

Lifting her freckled nose from a medicinal draught lexicon, Molly leaned closer to Fred to examine his choice of reading, knowing his propensity to waste time on Quidditch statistics. "If that's not your Potions essay, then what _are_ you working on?" she questioned as Fred withdrew from his cousin's close proximity.

"That bloody report on 'the dangers of improper transfiguration' that old Pubes assigned," Fred replied, reciting the essay's subject in a raspy, high-pitched voice.

"Professor Publius, Fred," Athena corrected automatically from behind her latest selection of exhaustive encyclopedias. When Fred had first coined that nickname after Professor Publius' introductory lesson, Athena had considered it quite offensive and scolded the boy, rabbiting on about the importance of respecting one's teachers. Fred was not so responsive to her reprimanding, however, claiming that with a name like Publius, the "old bloke had it coming." Thus she fell into the habit of simply reminding him to be polite and saying nothing further, regardless of how amusing she secretively considered the nickname.

Eyes widening in disbelief, Molly swiftly grabbed the parchment that lay before Fred and scanned its measly scribbled lines. "You're still working on this? It was due last week!" she exclaimed, admonishment clear in her voice.

"Hey, give over, will you?" Fred protested, reclaiming his meager assignment from his cousin. "I've got a life, unlike you two." Smoothing out the few wrinkles that Molly's fingers had bestowed upon his parchment, Fred returned to his reading with dramatic movements to demonstrate that his decision to work was entirely his own.

Releasing a sigh, Molly yielded and returned to her lexicon. "Fine, I'll leave you to your life then," she muttered with faint amusement.

As the three first year Gryffindors fell into the rhythm of their respective tasks, the library grew considerably quieter. Save the constant flipping of pages, the only perceptible noises emanated from outside the building's lofty, arched windows as birds vocally appreciated the clement weather. Initially their melodious strains were unheeded, but eventually the chirps offered a welcome distraction to Fred, easily snatching his attention from "Ten Safety Precautions Every Transfiguration Student Must Take."

"I thought this rubbish would be interesting, about horrible accidents and all, but _no_. It just goes on and on and on…" Fred groaned, spilling onto his desk like a blob of goo. "We're the only ones in here! C'mon, let's go outside."

Scanning her surroundings, Molly found her cousin's statement to be only partially true. While most students who weren't in class were indeed enjoying the fine weather, there were a few older Ravenclaws, as well as Professor Jareth, who inhabited the library. "Fine with me. I'm easy," Molly answered nonchalantly, halting her quill. After receiving no response from her friend, she glanced over to find the girl still entirely absorbed in her quest for the perfect potion project. "But what about Athena?"

With eyes still glued to the page, Athena replied, "Sorry, I can't until I find something."

Releasing a frustrated groan, Fred grabbed the top book from Athena's unread stack, a glutinous volume of dust and tawny pages titled _Five Thousand and One Common and Unusual Potions._ "Come on, there must be _some_ potion in here that you can do!" the boy exclaimed, heaving the heavy book open. Scanning the page to which he had opened, he suggested, "Laughing Potion?"

"Too easy," Athena dismissed, propping her chin up with her free hand as she turned another page.

"Vitamix potion?" was Fred's next recommendation as he randomly flipped to another section in the oversized book.

"Eh."

"Amortentia?"

"Again, a sixth year potion."

"Baneberry Potion?"

"Professor Jareth said no poisons! Weren't you listening?" Athena asked in mild annoyance, finally lifting her eyes from her books.

The smile on Fred's face immediately fell. "Bloody hell, there goes my Death-Cap Draught…" he muttered in grave disappointment. After turning another ancient page, however, his eyes immediately brightened with intrigue. "Ooh, Fungiface Potion?"

Closing the substantial encyclopedia with a loud thud, Athena scooted it to the discard pile and retrieved another from the shrinking stack of the library's potions resources. "I'm not demonstrating that to the class," she replied frankly.

After an indiscernible mutter from Fred, the trio again fell silent as the sound of flipping pages replaced their conversation. Seeing that they were not going to venture outside for quite some time, Molly had set aside her Potions essay to take up her Charms textbook, eager to read further than the assigned pages. While Fred and Athena remained fixed on their task of perusing the dwindling tower of books that sat between them, Molly enjoyed a little reprieve from the subject that her friend constantly exhausted.

The sweet potion-free silence had an unfortunately short reign, however, for after flipping past a few dull-looking draughts, Fred happened upon an intriguing image of a shimmery potion.

"Fortaffectus Potion?"

Eyes that could not be easily coerced into leaving the pages were suddenly upon Fred as Athena abruptly raised her head. "What?"

Unaware of Athena's particular interest, Fred brought his face closer to the book he held, squinting as he analyzed the letters. "Fortaffectus – I think that's how you say it," he repeated. "Oh, but it says here that the ingredients are unknown and for more information, see _Farbanker's Index of Mythical Spells and Potions."_ As he sensed Athena's close proximity, he raised his face to allow her a better view of the page she so eagerly sought. Scooting back in his chair to escape her wild tresses, he commented,"That's stupid. Why is it in here then if it's not a real potion?"

After swiftly skimming the scanty three-lined paragraph and artist's rendition of the potion, Athena leaned back into her own seat, much to Fred's palpable relief. "It is a real potion," she stated softly.

Lifting her eyes from her book, Molly had only a moment to consider how odd Athena's statement had sounded, bearing none of her usual confidence, before Fred laughed. "Don't tell me you've made it before," he said incredulously.

"No, of course not," Athena replied, her matter-of-fact tone returning. A short stretch of silence followed as a thoughtful expression reappeared on her features, taking a moment to contemplate before again speaking. "But…my mum once did."

"Really? How?" Molly asked curiously, glancing at the book's shimmery illustration.

"I'm not quite sure, it was long before I was born," Athena admitted, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "But Mum told me she used her own memories of my father to make this sort of healing potion after he was bitten by a snake. It saved his life."

By the time Athena had concluded the account, Fred's eyes had oddly expanded to the size of Hagrid's dinner plates. "Bloody hell! Your mum brewed a mythical potion!" he exclaimed in clear admiration, his voice all too loud for a library.

After reminding her cousin of manners he didn't consider necessary because of the library's emptiness, Molly examined the book's limited knowledge on Fortaffectus before turning to Athena. "Why doesn't she contact the publisher and tell them the ingredients?" she inquired.

"I don't know," the black-haired girl admitted with a shrug. "Father doesn't like to talk about it."

Fred's smile grew rapidly into a cheeky smirk as he released a chuckle. "Probably 'cause she put him in the shade," he theorized, deriving great pleasure from the thought of the arrogant professor being surpassed in his own craft.

Athena appeared to ponder the notion for a moment before promptly closing the subject. "Well I need to get back to work."

Once she had again buried her curly black head back into the ancient tomes of potions knowledge, her friends were unsuccessful in coaxing her gradually tiring eyes from the moth eaten pages and miniscule script. Even Molly's suggestion that she ask for Professor Jareth's assistance, recalling his generous offer to assist any students in need, fell on deaf ears. Recognizing that Athena was stubbornly set in her occupation, the Weasley cousins eventually ceased their attempts and left her in peace, eager to spend the remaining daylight hours outside.

The small, corner table had fallen into complete shadow by the time Athena finally vacated it. While it took some effort to return the countless volumes, collect the various note-covered parchments, and leave the workspace in an orderly manner, the girl was quite confident as she left the library that she had selected the perfect potion for her first project.

* * *

The following day proved quite typical for Hermione Granger. Other than receiving a few birthday kisses from her husband that morning, the Wednesday appeared as ordinary as every other day of the year. But while Hermione's birthday was filled with teaching students and marking scores of assignments, the practical Gryffindor would not have had it any other way. She enjoyed her daily routine and usually experienced no desire to change it, even upon special occasions like the anniversary of her birth. Thus, after a day of continuous teaching, the Charms professor had nearly forgotten it was her birthday until she returned to her quarters to find her husband and daughter, whispering conspiringly.

The moment Hermione entered the sitting room and gazed upon the man who sat comfortably in his favorite armchair and the girl who was perched beside him, the soft whispers instantly halted and the semblance of normal conversation followed.

"Was it the Glow-in-the-Dark Draught you said?" Severus asked his daughter nonchalantly. So impassive were his features that if she had not known the man for many years, Hermione would not have suspected anything amiss. As he casually thumbed through the book that lay open on his lap, he added, "Yes, though it may seem impractical and frivolous to the layman, it does possess a few highly useful properties. An acceptable choice."

The manner in which Athena's features were perfectly composed caused Hermione to question the Sorting Hat's decision for a brief moment, for whatever she and her father were concealing, it was accomplished with trademark Slytherin subtlety. The thought soon left her, however, when Athena turned to her with a large, guileless grin.

"Happy birthday, Mum!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, hopping off the armrest to throw her arms around her mother's waist. Quickly withdrawing from the hug, Athena retrieved her book bag from the coffee table and produced a square, brightly wrapped parcel. "I just stopped by to give you this."

As she received the package from Athena, Hermione's features brightened with a vast smile. "Oh, what could this be?" she wondered. With lips pursed, the witch turned over the gift a few times in her hands, testing its weight and smiling knowingly as she recognized the familiar shape.

"There's only one way to find out," Athena responded, her toothy grin pushing her freckled cheeks up towards her eyes.

Without further delay, Hermione commenced opening her gift, carefully tearing in only certain places to keep the wrapping paper intact. While she could have used magic to aid her efforts in preserving the paper, there was something about opening a gift the Muggle way that felt far more genuine. After a few noncommittal grunts from Severus in response to his wife's perfectionism, she pulled back the final flap to reveal a stack of leather-bound books tied together with a large ribbon. Upon the ribbon was an elegant script that read _"The Dylan Marwood Collection."_

"Oh, Dylan Marwood's linguistics books," Hermione observed, untying the ribbon. With an eager fascination reserved specifically for receiving new books, she began perusing the five volumes. "Mermish, Gobbledegook, Troll…" she murmured as she briefly examined the books, nodding approvingly at each one. After completing her preliminary inspection, the witch pulled her daughter into a hug."Thank you, Athena! I haven't read most of these."

As Hermione released Athena from her grateful grasp, Severus peered up from his reading, his brows knitted in distaste. "Marwood? Wasn't he that buffoon you were so enamored to meet last spring?" When his wife made no response, already nose-deep in one of her new books, he continued, his features adopting a sort of condescending amusement. "You dragged us to his infernal book signing and behaved like a silly school girl." A subtle smirk tugged at his lips.

Lifting her gaze from the intriguing world of the Troll dialect, Hermione immediately countered, "He's not a buffoon, Severus, he's a brilliant linguist." As Severus' irritating smirk only grew, she lowered her book and raised her chin. "And I was _not_ enamored – I simply admire his work," she stated firmly.

"And his hair," Athena chimed in.

Tucking her stack of books under one arm, Hermione placed a hand on her hip and turned to Athena. "Don't you have homework to do?" she questioned sternly.

Athena's cheeky grin dampened as she recalled the Transfiguration essay that was eagerly waiting to be written. "Right, I guess I should…" she realized. At the same moment she turned for the door, however, a sudden cough from her father called her back. "Actually, do you want to take a walk with me?" she asked her mother innocently. "The weather's really nice, and we could visit Hagrid."

Observing Athena's wide, artless grin, Hermione shot a suspicious glance to Severus as he casually returned to his book. Although she knew she was succumbing to whatever her husband and daughter were plotting, her curiosity caused her to agree. Before leaving their quarters with Athena, the witch awarded her Slytherin husband's craftiness a knowing grin and bade him farewell.

Once the door had shut behind his wife and daughter, Severus set down his book and commenced his preparations, unable to resist the smirk that tugged at his lips as he imagined the surprise that was sure to overcome Hermione.

* * *

 _A/N: Well now that I've gotten a few things out of the way, I can finally return to Snanger fluff in the next chapter. I was hesitant at first, but now that they've had a couple of arguments (and I've read more Snanger fanfiction recently), I'm eager to try some more romance between them. Of course they've been married for a gazillion years, so don't expect anything too fiery._

 _By the way, if you have any cute/fun/interesting/weird/hilarious/etc headcanons about what a married Severus and Hermione would be like, please let me know. I'd love some inspiration. :)_


	8. An Unexpected Evening

Chapter 8 – An Unexpected Evening

When Hermione returned to her quarters that evening, she was reminded why she had married her stubborn, secretive, cynical, but truly loving husband.

After a few hours of chatting, Hermione had left Hagrid's hut with Athena, a plethora of birthday wishes, and a sore jaw from the rock cake she had politely attempted to consume. Her teaching-induced fatigue was dispelled only by her curiosity, knowing full well that her afternoon with Athena had been specifically orchestrated by the Head of Slytherin. Severus was hardly an elaborate man, but he never allowed her birthday to pass without giving her some special treatment. And this year, as she discovered upon entering the sitting room, was no exception.

Illumined only by the fireplace and a few floating candles, the mundane room had been transformed into the very definition of romance. Gone were the couch and armchair, replaced by a small table near the fireplace where dinner eagerly awaited the couple. Severus had even gone as far as to sprinkle rose petals about the room. However, he was quick to assure Hermione that he had only resorted to such cliché because he knew she was exceedingly fond of "nauseating sentiment."

Soon Hermione was seated before a glass of Beaujolais and a steaming bowl of bouillabaisse, the latter which Severus had prepared himself. As an exceptional Potions master, the wizard also proved quite talented in cooking, but rarely exercised that talent except to occasionally placate Hermione. Not only did the Gryffindor enjoy his culinary expertise, but she took pleasure in relieving the house-elves from a bit of duty.

After a few ravenous and decidedly undignified spoonfuls of bouillabaisse, Hermione was able to set down her utensils long enough to thank the wizard who sat opposite her, consuming his dinner with considerably less ferocity. "You really are thoughtful, Severus," she gushed, dabbing her smile with a napkin.

Once Severus had removed his lips from his glass of Beaujolais, they curled upward. While the resulting expression was not technically a smile by standard measurements, for Severus Snape it was considered a genuine indication of happiness, displaying far more ease than his expressions in public ever could. "Yes, but no student must ever discover that," he said.

"Oh, of course not!" Hermione laughed, freeing a mussel from its shell. "Because Merlin forbid someone learn you're a decent human being…or that your feet are ticklish…or that you snore like a dying Hippogriff…or that you don't have chest hair…or that you look like a Kneazle before you shave in the morning…" As she continued to list Snape's various quirks, her wicked grin expanded further, waiting for her patient husband to react. "Or that you like it when I…"

"You know far too much about me, bothersome girl," Severus interrupted, shaking his head. While his features were scrunched in irritation, the liveliness in his eyes did not diminish.

Raising her dripping spoon, Hermione met her husband's scowl with an impish grin. "And I could blackmail you at any time if I wanted to. Just remember that," she threatened, quite proud of her power.

Hermione's position of triumph was short-lived, for Severus' raised eyebrow was quick to enter the debate. "Then you must also remember that I possess an expansive knowledge of _you_ …" he responded, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Releasing a laugh, Hermione raised her chin in defiance, unable to conceal the mirth in her eyes as she adopted a stubborn guise. "I highly doubt that you could blackmail me, because unlike you, _sir,_ my ego does not bruise easily," she countered, her nose as high as any Malfoy. "I've withstood several nasty Rita Skeeter rumors in my lifetime."

After taking a moment to savor his stew, Severus dabbed his lips with a napkin as he responded casually, "Ah, then I take it you do not care who knows about that little challenge you took on after our wedding." When his eyes returned to his wife, they were perceptibly gleaming.

With a loud clang and splash, Hermione's spoon fell from her hand into her dinner. Yet even though her cheeks had visibly reddened, she stated, "I don't know what you're talking about," suddenly transfixed by a crack in the fireplace.

The shadows and highlights cast upon Severus' face by the candlelight served to accentuate the subtle curl of his lips. "That's odd. Not many would forget a challenge as ambitious as copulating in every room of this castle." As humor seeped into his words, the wizard no longer expended as much effort to withhold a smirk.

With every inch of her face shining a brilliant crimson, Hermione could no longer feign innocence. "It was silly, I was young and – "

The curve of Severus' lips became an incontestable grin as he witnessed his poor wife's embarrassment. How he loved to watch her squirm. "When did you eventually stop pestering me to go along with it?" he mused, reaching for his glass. "Wasn't it just last year, after we had crossed the Divination classroom off our list?" His eyes remained fixed on her in amusement as he sipped his wine.

"You can hardly use that information as blackmail," Hermione responded, quickly recovering despite her unaltered rosy complexion. "It would be just as embarrassing for you."

Severus removed the glass of deep ruby liquid from his lips. "But if I recall correctly, it was your knickers that were discovered there the next day," Severus observed, his gleaming eyes taunting her. Her deepened blush only served to widen his smile.

No longer enjoying their verbal sparring, Hermione had no desire to dwell upon memories she still considered embarrassing. Thus it was with genuine irritation that she huffed, "Severus, if this is your idea of a romantic dinner, I'd rather go back to Hagrid."

While his wife's aggravation proved amusing, Severus knew he would not hear the end of it from the feisty Gryffindor if he continued down their usual path of discourse. As his sarcastic smirk morphed into a gentler smile, he raised his hands in a rare gesture of surrender. "You're right, my dear, I shouldn't be tormenting you on your birthday," he conceded. "Perhaps a gift will appease you?"

The irritated angle of her eyebrows softened into a curve of confusion. "Gift? I thought this was my gift," she said, gesturing to the dinner.

"It's part of it, yes, but there's something more." Producing his wand, Severus performed a quick Summoning Charm. A plainly-wrapped parcel soon floated out from the bedroom. Once it had arrived at its destination, the wizard reached over the bouquet of roses that garnished the table and handed the gift to his wife.

As she fingered the rectangular parcel, Hermione's face returned to its normal, healthy shade. "Hmm, this shape seems quite familiar," she remarked with a knowing grin, turning the present over a few times. When she received nothing from her husband but a raised eyebrow, she succumbed to her curiosity and began unwrapping the gift, exercising the same caution as she had with Athena's present.

As his wife spent a Flamel's lifetime opening the parcel, Severus made the usual disclaimers associated with that type of gift. "I apologize if you have already read it. It's quite difficult to find a book that Hermione Granger hasn't already devoured."

As brown paper and twine were set aside, Hermione examined the hardcover book in her hands, admiring the golden script that formed _"Wuthering Heights."_ So engrossed was she in the gift that she uttered no words to indicate her reaction, simply opening the book to conduct further study.

Uncertain if Hermione was confused or just considered their romantic dinner the best time to start devouring her new book, Severus thought it best to explain. " _Wuthering Heights._ It's a Mu-"

"Muggle classic, I know," Hermione murmured, flipping through the crisp pages. As she continued her perusal of the novel, tucking back a stray curl from her eyes, her following words flowed forth in disjointed sentences as various passages of prose commanded her attention. "I learned about the Brontë sisters in primary school, but back then I was more interested in Charlotte Brontë's _Jane Eyre_. I meant to eventually read this, but I never got around to it…" After her words had trailed off, she lost herself completely to the wiles of a new book, its sweet scent and captivating words pulling her in and drawing her attention away from the generous man who had given her the novel.

After observing his wife hungrily consume her new book for a few moments, Severus found himself becoming slightly envious of the attention that the ink-covered pages were receiving and cleared his throat. "If I had known I would also be entertaining Emily Brontë, I would have made more bouillabaisse."

Catching the hint in his sarcastic words, Hermione quickly set the book on a nearby end table, placing it just out of reach from any temptation. "Sorry, I'm just eagerly looking forward to reading it," she apologized.

"So I gathered."

Reaching across the table, Hermione laid her hand on top of his, its size appearing quite small against to the long, dexterous fingers of the former Potions master. "Thank you, it's a really lovely gift," she expressed, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze. "But you're making me feel guilty for just giving you socks and potion ingredients for your birthday. I need to start giving people better gifts…"

Altering their hand positions so that his lay on top of hers, Severus grinned in a manner only few were allowed to witness, a genuine smile that seemed to minimize the effects of age on his features. "Nonsense. Your socks are a beloved tradition," he responded with a chuckle. The purity of his smile was soon tainted, however, by that stubborn spark of satire that seldom left his grins. "In fact, I must congratulate you, my dear. It seems that after all these years, you have finally managed to knit a pair equal in size."

After Hermione threatened to return to _Wuthering Heights_ if he did not spare her his teasing for one night, the conversation continued flowing without complication. The crackling of the fire and clanking of spoons accompanied their mirthful tones as they enjoyed sips of sweet wine and spoonfuls of savory stew. As it was with all their conversations, one topic naturally led to another like a flowing river of thoughts, but all subject matter remained light. Although it was her birthday, Hermione knew she would not encounter an eddy in the river that would transport her to the hidden, turbulent waters of her husband's mind. He was also far too shrewd to allow anything to slip that was remotely related to whatever plagued him.

When the conversation found its way to a reminder about the staff meeting that was scheduled for tomorrow, Severus' features grew decidedly agitated.

"Thank you for increasing the pleasure of this evening with the promise of an even lovelier one tomorrow," he groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice thick with cynicism.

Setting down her wine glass, Hermione simply rolled her eyes. "Oh come off it. Staff meetings wouldn't be nearly as unpleasant if you didn't have such a bad attitude about them," she pointed out, chuckling at the revulsion that was etched across his features.

"A man should not have to endure both insufferable students and bothersome colleagues in one day," he groaned, downing an extra gulp of wine to illustrate his point.

"It could be important," Hermione maintained, collecting the remaining bouillabaisse from the bottom of her bowl. "Perhaps there's news on the Death Eaters' whereabouts."

As his bowl was nearly as empty as Hermione's, Severus scooped up the remaining broth and shrimp in one spoonful and finished it off. "If Minerva had learned of something before the _Prophet_ , she would have already told me," he responded, setting down his spoon. "No, it will undoubtedly be another ridiculous 'open forum' where Publius whinges about the small number of Aurors, Trelawney predicts our fiery destruction, and Jareth attempts to engage me in conversation." His left eye twitched slightly at the thought.

An amused grin spread across Hermione's face as she released a chuckle. "What, you're not flattered by how highly Sydney regards you?" she asked, pointing her dripping spoon at him. At the few staff meetings that had been held during the last couple weeks, Hermione had found much amusement in watching the interactions between Sydney Jareth, the over gracious Potions professor who practically worshipped Severus, and her husband who took no measures to disguise his distaste for the newcomer.

It was with the same amusement that she watched her husband's lips twist unpleasantly at her use of Professor Jareth's given name. It was true that she still addressed most of her colleagues by their proper title, having spent seven years as their reverent student. Even McGonagall, who she viewed as a mentor, could never be Minerva to her, for it felt unnatural and slightly offensive. But she had no qualms about referring to the two new professors, along with Neville, by their first names. Severus likewise referred to most of his colleagues by their surnames as not to encourage familiarity, except for the select few for whom he actually cared.

"The man is a fool; it takes no effort to recognize that," Severus stated simply, replenishing his wine glass. "A mere novice in Potions, no doubt. I don't know how he became a Potions master, nor why Minerva hired him."

As soon as her husband had filled his glass, Hermione followed his example and reached for the bottle of Beaujolais. "From what little I've talked with him, he seems quite passionate about the subject, at least…" she observed as she finished pouring and stoppered the bottle. "But Athena did mention that she feels unchallenged in his class…" Contemplating for a moment, she took a sip of her wine before adding, "But that doesn't necessarily reflect poorly on his teaching. Athena did have quite the head start, after all."

"Not surprising in the least," he responded, removing his lips from the crystal glass. After he considered the matter for a moment, savoring the wine that remained on his tongue, he shook his head. "It's a shame Athena's Potions instruction must suffer at the hands of such an unskilled amateur."

With a nod in agreement, Hermione let the room fall silent as she imbibed more Beaujolais, already sensing a pervading warmth that she doubted was caused by the fireplace. Observing her husband over her glass, she noticed the dark shadows under his eyes that were even more pronounced by the firelight. After another moment of contemplation, she set down her glass and asked, "Could you perhaps continue your lessons with her?" Studying his staid face as the floating candles cast grotesque shadows on every imperfection, she could detect none of his thoughts as he seemed to consider her request. Recalling how irritable he had been for the past few weeks, she was quick to bite her lip and add, "Of course, that is if you're not too busy. I don't want to put any more strain on you…"

After giving the matter a few more moments of thought, Severus responded, "I could arrange that." Gazing over the bouquet of roses that was effectively romantic but partially obstructed his view, he noticed the palpable concern that Hermione wore, a particular expression he had observed frequently as of late. "And do not worry about me, my dear. I have been feeling much better lately," he assured her, lips curving into a gentle smile.

Studying the black eyes that glistened in the candlelight and detecting no sign of deceit, Hermione returned his subtle smile with a satisfied grin. "I'm glad to hear that," she remarked. Her grin damped slightly as her brow grew more contemplative, fixing the wizard with an earnest expression. "Don't forget that you can talk to me about anything if you ever need to."

Observing the depth of emotion in Hermione's caring gaze, Severus could only wonder bemusedly at the undeserved love she bestowed upon him. His amazement, however, was still not enough to unbury the secrets he did not wish to reveal. "Yes, I am aware…But enough talk about me. This evening was supposed to be about you." With a shake of his head to dismiss the topic, the atmosphere suddenly seemed to change as a strange sort of grin appeared on his face. Touched by the dark shadows and orange glow, the resulting expression appeared almost predatory. "I am at your complete disposal," he murmured.

As Hermione observed with great interest how impossibly silkier his voice had grown, she sensed the warmth spread further throughout her body until its stimulating effects were felt even in her extremities, dispelling all previous concerns. It was ridiculously easy how simple he could sometimes stoke her inner fire. "Oh?" she asked, quite intrigued. As his dark gaze seemed to beckon her closer, she arose from her chair and circled around behind him, drawing close but refraining from touching. "Hmm, whatever should I do with you?"

As if he was using Legilimency to read his wife's every desire, Severus was quick to answer. In a rapid flurry of spells, the remaining bouillabaisse and wine were sent floating to the kitchen, the table and chairs were Vanished, the couch and armchair were returned to their usual places, and Hermione and Severus found themselves pressed against the soft sofa cushions, tangled up in each other's limbs. The maneuver was far from flawless, for bouillabaisse splashed onto the carpet and Hermione's elbow accidentally dug into an area of Severus' abdomen that had been rendered sensitive from bowel problems; but after nearly twelve years of marriage, they knew that nothing was ever truly perfect. They had long since learned to delight in the imperfections of life.

Once Severus had finished groaning over his abdominal aches and Hermione had ceased her laughter at their awkward position and situated herself more comfortably on top of him, the fires within the couple were quickly rekindled. Before any more words could pass between them, their lips connected with an eager passion that was more common in newer relationships, but with experience and precision that belied their many years of marriage.

As Hermione grasped firmly onto his face to return his forceful kisses with equal fervor, not wishing to be dominated, her hands made their way into his hair, allowing her to press upon him with even more force. Even in the daydreams of her youth she could not deny that the man's hair had an unfortunate propensity to become greasy, but she had long since grown accustomed to the feeling of burying her fingers in his oily black locks. After witnessing with her own eyes how frequent bathing did not solve the problem, she had learned to accept it as one of his many quirks. He was quite longsuffering when it came to her wild mane, after all, even when he found his fingers tightly ensnared in its trap, as they happened to be at the moment.

While the battle between their mouths raged on, Severus began to retreat slightly, an odd phenomenon that caused Hermione to press on even further. After a few shorter kisses, he finally managed to break away with an undignified trail of spittle, meeting her questioning gaze with a grin. Extracting his hand from her hair and placing it on the small of her back, he shifted around slightly to remove his wand from his coat pocket, thankful that Hermione hadn't been applying any weight to its hiding place. Before setting it on the coffee table, he pointed it at the gramophone that stood on the other side of the room, causing soft jazz music to fill the room.

As Severus set down his wand and returned his gaze to Hermione, she placed a finger to his lips to stop his attempt at reconquering her mouth, eyeing him incredulously. "Well this is new. I thought you weren't particularly fond of 'disgusting clichés,'" she remarked, a smirk forming on her reddened lips.

"I am not, but I will tolerate them for your sake," Severus answered simply, eyeing her mouth with a sense of impatience.

"My poor, longsuffering husband," the witch drawled as her finger traced a particularly deep line on his cheek.

And the battle between the Heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin resumed. With open-mouthed kisses the two battled fiercely, matching each other's force and stubbornly refusing to relent. Sitting himself up slightly so that his head no longer rested against the armrest, Severus sought to claim the dominance that Hermione's position on top of him had afforded her. The alcohol that inflamed their senses worked to mask the unpleasant tastes that lingered in their mouths, intensifying the sweetness of the wine as they continuously exchanged saliva.

While she was certain her husband had only one thing on her mind, Hermione's overactive brain was obviously in a million different places, even under the slight effect of alcohol. Enrapt snugly in his limbs, participating in an exchange that was hardly ever as passionate as it currently proved, she couldn't help but consider how odd and blessed this moment was. Contrary to what a few gossipy teachers and disturbed students believed, they did not constantly engage in intimate displays of ardor, snogging during every spare moment of the day. The first year of their marriage had been admittedly like that, but once Athena was born their private times were rendered unfortunately sporadic. Continuing in her early challenge of copulating in every room of the castle, while utterly ridiculous, had prevented them from drifting too far apart, but even those escapades that not been common. But while Athena was now sleeping away from their quarters, leaving them quite to themselves, they had not taken advantage of their new freedom as much as they should have due to Severus' odd behavior.

As Severus' hand began traveling slowly down her back, Hermione was called back from her mental rabbit trail and was reminded to enjoy their rare strife-free moments now, for she didn't know how long such bliss would last. Thus she closed her eyes and allowed her other four senses to take over, reveling in the taste of his lips, the feel of his proximity, the sound of his soft guttural murmurs, and the smell of that unmistakable mix of potions and old parchment that was his unique scent.

While they were both unequivocally stubborn souls, their stamina proved less tenacious, requiring them to momentarily rest from their ravenous kissing to catch their breaths. As their chests heaved heavily against each other, Hermione's lips found their way to the most vulnerable chink in her husband's armor – his neck. As she pulled back his black curtain of hair, it was considerably difficult to get at much skin because of that aggravatingly high collar that worked almost perfectly to protect his weak spot.

As a deep groan resonated in the back of his throat, Severus opened his eyes languidly and watched the tangled mess of his wife's hair as she strove to circumvent his protective collar. As she succeeded in pushing aside the sturdy fabric, he released a contented sigh and murmured, "Ten points to Gryffindor."

"If only they actually counted," she mumbled against his skin.

Severus' eyelids fell closed as his wife continued her partially effective attempts at kissing his neck. "I wouldn't give them if they counted," he responded. His voice, lacking its usual crisp consonants, seemed almost slurred in their absence, an anomaly that only occurred during moments like these or times of great drowsiness. "The House doesn't deserve to profit from its Head's extraordinary – ah – expertise…"

After giving the small amount of exposed skin a nibble, Hermione withdrew and sat almost upright between his legs, pulling back the many curls that had fallen in her face. Ignoring the sensations caused by the deep hmm that escaped her husband's lips, she situated herself more comfortably on his lap and brought her hands to his chest. "Well the same can be said for Slytherin," she retorted in mock annoyance, tapping the tip of his large nose.

Before Severus could contrive a worthy response, finding his quick wit currently impaired, his lovely wife was again captivating his attention. In a sudden and very zealous manner she began fumbling with the top button of his frock coat, trying for a few moments before she could properly undo it. He made no movement to perform the same on her blouse, knowing it would be quite a while before she succeeded in separating him from his favorite coat. And although his body believed differently, his cloudy mind still granted him patience as he intently observed the witch. A highly pleased smirk graced his lips as he presumed that her newfound urgency and clumsiness were results of the particular placement of his left hand.

She had finally succeeded with the fifth button, a particularly devious thing that kept slipping from her grip, when she released a huff. "I've always said you have far too many buttons, Severus," she commented. When the sixth button refused to cooperate as well, she stilled her hands as a mischievous glimmer appeared in her eyes. "You know, there is a much simpler way of doing this…" Inclining towards the coffee table, her hand sought out her conveniently located wand.

Laying a hand on her outstretched arm, Severus guided it away from its target as his eyes adopted a glint. "But you will do no such thing because you know how displeased I will be if you ruin my coat," he said sternly, his voice as articulate as his foggy brain could manage. As his wife sighed in defeat and returned to the manual task, the firmness of his features faded into amusement. "So I take it you've lost interest in what used to excite you?"

Hermione's head was now bent in concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she increased her unbuttoning efforts. "No, I'm just out of practice it seems. It's been a while since we started this in our day clothes," she replied.

All he had to do was shift his left hand slightly to encourage her in her task. As the two fell silent, allowing the soft, melodious jazz to envelop them like smooth silk, the flames inside them burned with ardent affection and seamless unity.

When Hermione did manage to unbutton every last forsaken button on his frock coat, Severus was more than willing to wriggle free from it and discard it on the floor. Left in his white undershirt which she readily started unbuttoning, he tightening his grip on her and reunited their lips, his free hand finding its way to begin on her own buttons.

Every kiss and caress was now growing more ardent as the music swelled dramatically as if synced to their current emotions. (Hermione wouldn't have been surprised in the least if the magical gramophone did indeed possess that ability.) While she worked her way blindly down his shirt, freeing more and more of his chest as she smashed her lips against his equally powerful ones, their mouth-to-mouth battle becoming more like waves crashing upon the shore, a sudden knock pierced through the blissful haze like a clap of thunder.

The witch and wizard instantly froze, exchanging looks of utter surprise. But while the knock had effected Hermione's brain like a splash of cold water, Severus was back at her lips a moment later, carrying on as if nothing had occurred. A recurrence of the knock assured her that it hadn't been a dream.

As she made an attempt to withdraw from Severus' arms, the man only tightened his grasp and drew her closer to his chest. Turning her face away from his mouth so that his kisses landed on her cheek, she released an awkward chuckle as she continued in her efforts to extract herself from him. "Severus, there's someone at the door."

"No there isn't," he practically growled, pressing his lips to her jaw.

Another knock resounded through the sitting room.

"I'm quite sure there is," she answered, pushing off against his chest to bring herself upright. As she crawled carefully off his lap, her little sigh of disappointment was nothing compared to the curses that issued from her husband's mouth.

As soon as Hermione had risen from the couch, Severus stood up and bristly swept past her. "I'll handle them," he snarled, his voice seething with vexation.

While the wizard made his way to the door, the grumbling that poured from his lips was mostly too unintelligible to discern, but Hermione was certain she heard the word "eviscerate" at one point.

Anyone who dared interrupt an intimate moment between the two was deserving of death in Severus Snape's highly aggravated mind. This sentiment was etched clearly upon his face and reflected in his malevolent eyes as he hurled the door open, sending the knob crashing into the wall.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HERMIONE!"

The silence that followed the chorus of voices was quieter than a tomb. The gobsmacked faces of Ron Weasley, Ginny Potter, and Harry Potter appeared so ashen white that they may as well have been buried six feet under. Harry's mouth had fallen open at the sight of the disheveled, red-lipped, and highly incensed Snape who stood before them in an open white shirt. When their brains eventually recovered from the shock, there was only one conclusion that could be drawn about his current appearance. Their former professor had been either on the verge of or in the middle of shagging his wife.

Before another sound could be uttered, the door was abruptly slammed in the visitors' pallid faces.

"Severus!" Hermione chided as she sprung up from the couch. Her husband made no response as he snatched up his frock coat and wand, Vanished the gramophone, and disappeared into the bedroom, their quarters practically shaking as the door closed forcefully behind him.

Hastening towards the entrance, she perceived a few strangled squeaks from the hall before a "bloody hell!" was heard, its tone both appalled and nauseous.

Hesitating at the door for a moment, she hastily buttoned up and straightened her blouse, making one futile attempt at smoothing out her exceptionally wild hair before opening the door to reveal her friends' large eyes. A sheepish smile graced her lips as she struggled to prevent embarrassment from overcoming her joy at their presence, well aware of how crimson her cheeks were. After she was stared at like a deer in the headlights for a few seconds, she grew weary of their petrification and spoke. "Well aren't you going to say hello?"

Ginny was the first to find her voice, sending a chiding glance to the slack-jawed boys as she pulled Hermione into a hug. "Happy birthday," she expressed, her excitement returning to her as a large grin donned her features.

As Ginny followed Hermione into the sitting room, the redhead cast a quick glance to the couch before dispelling her discomfort. "Sorry for the late visit, but we just finally came home yesterday and the guys have been so swamped with Auror duties that we couldn't get away until tonight," she explained.

"Oh, it's quite all right," Hermione assured her. Turning around, she discovered that Ron and Harry were still in the hallway, exchanging uncomfortable glances. Bearing no patience for their squeamishness when she hadn't seen them in two months, she placed a hand on her hip in mild annoyance. "Well, are you two just going to stay out there gawking like puffer-fish or are you going to come in?"

Both boys quickly shuffled in, closing the door behind them. The tips of Ron's ears began to blend in with his fiery locks as he sheepishly apologized, trying to shake off the extreme awkwardness. "Sorry, 'Mione..."

Hermione didn't allow Ron a second longer to contemplate what had occurred, wrapping her arms around him in a friendly hug. "It's so good to see you all," she said, squeezing his limp frame for a few moments before he finally responded. Drawing back from the redhead, she then gave Harry a warm embrace before stepping back to examine them.

Ron and Harry appeared unchanged since she had seen them last summer; perhaps a bit more tired, but otherwise the same. The youngest Weasley brother still bore a splatter of freckles upon the round face that had failed to thin out over the years. Harry on the other hand seemed to have physically matured more than his single friend, looking ever the part of a father of three.

There was something noticeably different in Ginny's appearance, however. The redheaded woman had never been plump, but somehow she seemed leaner and her muscles more toned than during their last encounter.

After taking in the sight of her best and wholly welcome friends, Hermione realized that something was missing from their party. "Where are James, Albus, and Lily?" she asked.

"In bed – or at least they should be," Ginny replied. "We're staying at the Three Broomsticks. Harry put James in charge, but we locked the doors so they shouldn't be able to destroy too much," she added with a laugh.

"Though hopefully he'll stop teasing Al about his Gonçalo Flores action figure," Harry expressed with a weary grin.

"Well with the way that boy idolizes that toy, I wouldn't be surprised," Ginny responded with a shrug. Turning to her brother, she grinned wickedly as she slung an arm around his shoulder. "It's a lot like Ickle Ronniekins and his Krum action figure," she teased in a high-pitched voice.

As Ron shrugged out of his sister's grasp, his face turned the bright shade of red was typically triggered by anger or embarrassment. "Hey, come off it, sis!" he protested.

As the three others shared a laugh at Ron's expense, Hermione felt complete ease return to her composure, simply pleased to be in the presence of her dearly missed friends. "Well have a seat, you three," she suggested, gesturing towards the couch.

A small amount of crimson returned to Hermione's cheeks as she beheld the couch in all its disheveled glory. The pillows were scattered on the ground, a plush throw blanket lay crumpled beside them, and the cushions themselves bore indents left by heavy weight.

Running a hand through her tangles, the witch made an attempt at Slytherin subtly as she said, "Sorry about the mess. We were, uh, redecorating." Her voice, however, had not come out as indifferently as she had intended.

"Oh, sure, that's what it was," Ginny answered wryly, fixing Hermione with a sly grin. As her brothers made no move to seat themselves, the redhead plopped fearlessly down onto the couch in question. After the men had reluctantly followed suit, Ron delicately placing his bum on the cushions as if they would bite him, Hermione sat down in the farther armchair, noting how no one had dared sit in the armchair by the fireplace. Having been an occasional visitor of the Snape quarters for years, the three had quickly learned not to come between Severus Snape and his favorite seat.

Eying Hermione's ever-blushing cheeks with amusement, Ginny strove to put her friend at ease. "There's no need to be embarrassed," she assured her. "It is your birthday, after all. Just make sure he focuses on you."

Hermione's cheeks immediately threatened to turn Weasley-hair red, for she had not spoken to her friend about such things in a long while and had thus grown unaccustomed. The looks of pure appellation on Ron and Harry's faces as they covered their ears, however, quickly replaced her discomfiture with amusement.

"I really don't want to hear about this," Ron groaned, his face tinted an unhealthy shade of green.

Ginny released a laugh at the positively boyish reactions of her husband and brother. "Oh come off it, it's not anything they haven't been doing for the past ten years," she remarked dismissively.

"Twelve actually," Hermione corrected, watching in amusement as Ron began fidgeting uncomfortably.

Slouching against the couch, Ron muttered under his breath, "Yeah, but he's still a greasy git."

Hermione's smile abruptly morphed into a scowl as she eyed the redheaded Auror intently. "What did you say about my husband, Ronald?" she asked primly. While she was quite used to his snide remarks about Severus, she could not allow him to believe she approved of disparaging her spouse.

Before Ron could sputter out a response, Harry was quick to his rescue. "He was just saying how much he secretly adores Snape," he chuckled impishly as his best mate blanched. "So you better watch out for this one, Hermione."

"Blimey, Harry! You're bloody disgusting, you know that?" Ron protested, punching the wizard's arm. After the group had shared yet another laugh at the Weasley's expense, Ron grew contemplative for a few moments before venturing, "But isn't Snape, uh, you know, too _old_ for that sort of thing?" There was perceptible hopefulness in his voice.

Strange as it was, Hermione no longer felt much awkwardness in speaking about her love life with her friends. Perhaps it was because she had done so before with Ginny and the boys were truly fun to torment. "Oh, not at all," she answered, her eyes glinting mischievously. "He's got a few good decades left, I'd wager. And he can brew all sorts of potions for that, so I'm not worried." With a nonchalant shrug she watched the nausea on Ron's face grow more apparent.

"Brilliant," the redhead muttered, holding back the bile that was rising in his throat. Even after all these years, the thought of his old professor – in all his large nosed, greasy haired, crooked toothed glory – shagging anyone, let alone his best friend, was enough to make him queasy.

Much to Ron's relief, the conversation ended there when the bedroom door opened and Professor Severus Snape entered the sitting room. With a few scrolls tucked under his arm, he made his way to his armchair and sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles.

Uncomfortable as the air had grown, the visitors could not help but notice Snape's appearance, now completely different than when he had first greeted them. His infamous black frock coat had returned to its rightful place on his body, hiding almost all of the white shirt that looked wholly unnatural on him. Not a hair was askew on his head and his features were set in complete equanimity, no trace of embarrassment or ire left in his expressionless black eyes.

Hermione waited a few seconds as her husband spread one scroll across his lap and retrieved a red quill from the end table. When he made no attempt to acknowledge their presence, she thought it best to dispel the uncomfortable silence that had blanketed the room. "How good of you to join us, Severus," the witch said brightly, exaggerating the formality of her greeting in an attempt to amuse him.

"Good evening, Snape," Harry added amiably.

As he raised his black gaze from whatever poor student's scroll he was marking, he eyed the intruders with his usual indifference. "Potter. Mrs. Potter. Weasley," he responded cordially, emphasizing the final name with a sardonic smirk. After they stared uneasily at him for a few seconds, he leaned back in his chair and said, "It is not that I am opposed to seeing you, but perhaps instead of charging in here like the Gryffindors you are, you should give us some warning next time to avoid any further…situations."

Gladdened to see that the wizard had recomposed himself enough to be civil, Hermione responded, "Oh, don't worry, Severus, I explained to them about our redecorating," in hopes that any further discomfiture would be assuaged. An embarrassed Severus was an irritable Severus after all, and she didn't want any altercation to sully her reunion with her friends.

Turning to Harry, Ginny whispered, "You know, that really is a good code word. We'll have to use it next time Mum wants to visit."

"Are euphemisms really necessary?" Snape asked Ginny blandly as he returned to his marking. "I was under the impression that Mrs. Weasley would condone any action that resulted in her gaining more grandchildren." The corner of his lip curled subtly.

A wide smile brightened up Hermione's features, happy to confirm that Severus was behaving like his normal droll self.

Ginny stared blankly at the older wizard for a few moments before she recalled just how keen her former teacher's hearing was. "You're right…" she admitted as awkward memories resurfaced. Desiring sorely not to remember the last little chat she had with her mum, she turned to Hermione and asked, "Are your parents pushing for more little Snapes, 'Mione?"

"Thankfully no," the head of Gryffindor replied over Snape's snort. "They're quite happy with Athena."

"One is certainly enough," Severus added, scribbling theatrically on the parchment in a way that still made his former students cringe.

As Harry watched Hermione send an odd glance to her husband, he recalled a question he had been meaning to ask. "Well aren't you going to tell us what House she was sorted into?" he inquired eagerly.

Hermione glanced at Severus' unperturbed expression before replying proudly, "Gryffindor."

"Hah, told you Harry!" Ron exclaimed triumphantly, bouncing on the couch slightly. "She's definitely like her Mum. Now pay up, mate." His blue eyes glistened proudly as he held up an expectant hand to Harry.

"What are you talking about, you twit? I was rooting for Gryffindor too!" Harry protested with a laugh, slapping the ginger's hand away.

"Oh." Ron stared blankly at the coffee table for a few seconds before realizing, "Must have been George I wagered with."

As the conversation winded down with a few laughs, Hermione found it an appropriate time to voice some pressing questions. "Now, what's kept you so busy in Ireland that you couldn't spare a few seconds to write an old friend?" she asked, a smile still gracing her lips as her tone grew more serious.

Brushing some of the overgrown ginger hair from his eyes, Ron regarded the witch with confusion. "I thought we explained in our letters, 'Mione," he said.

"Yes, but what's _your_ excuse, Gin?" Hermione questioned as she narrowed her eyes at the youngest Weasley.

As she bolted up out of her relaxed position, Ginny's brown eyes immediately flew to the men seated on her left. "You mean you didn't tell her?" she asked in surprise. When her questioning gaze was met with blank stares, the witch shook her head in disappointment and sighed. "Men. They can be so daft sometimes, right?"

"Oh, no, I'm afraid mine is immune to such foolishness," Hermione replied, grinning wryly at her husband. The older wizard simply raised an eyebrow at her over his work and continued scribbling.

"Well since neither of _them_ thought it important to mention, I might as well tell you now. I was recruited to play a few games for the Ballycastle Bats," Ginny explained. "Their Chaser was injured so they asked me to step in."

"Oh, no wonder you look so fit," Hermione commented. She couldn't help but eye the slender woman with envy, for she had lost all excess weight from bearing three children. Hermione was by no means overweight, but she hadn't been able to reclaim the effortlessly slim figure she had sported before Athena came along. "Does this mean you're coming out of retirement then?" she asked the former Chaser curiously.

"No, unfortunately I can't," Ginny answered with a note of wistfulness. "I wouldn't have any time for the kids if I did."

As the conversation turned towards the visitors' adventures in Ireland, Severus only half listened as he busied himself with the marking of error-riddled essays. While he could have locate the students' mistakes in his sleep, the task was made more difficult because of his subpar eyesight. His reading glasses would have certainly aided him, but he would rather squint than grant Hermione's friends a further look into his private life. Reading glasses were necessary at his age, but they did nothing for the formidable image he had been cultivating for decades. Then again, neither did taking a wife…

The younger people's words floated in and out of Snape's ears like the prattle of little children as Ron detailed his heroism against the Paidir Sé, the Dark Wizard gang that had been evidently eluding the Irish Auror force. Once the boys were finished with their tales, Hermione and Ginny drove the conversation mostly, taking it down winding and distantly-related paths as Severus amusedly watched the boys struggle to keep up. Many subjects were discussed, from the new staff members ("Gaylor Publius? Did his parents _want_ him to be ridiculed?" Ron laughed) to Hermione's new first year Charms assistant (Severus made sure to contribute a snide comment to that topic), to her new set of Dylan Marwood books, but it wasn't until Ron and Harry mentioned their return to the Auror office that Severus' interest was piqued.

"Oh, this is sure to rile you, 'Mione," Ron began, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Apparently while we were gone, a house-elf was found dead in Budleigh Babberton."

At the introduction of the distressing topic, Hermione's lighthearted grin drooped. "Yes, I read about it in the _Prophet_ a while ago _._ It's quite sad…" She allowed her voice to fade away, knowing that after eighteen years her friends were still no more interested in her views on the treatment of house-elves.

Ignoring his friend's predictable air of sadness, Ron continued in his eager delivery of news. "Yeah, well after that Proudfoot and Savage did some investigating and found that the elf had belonged to Professor Slughorn," he informed. "It was a couple blocks away from his house."

Leaning forward to match his friend's posture, Harry jumped into the conversation with as much intrigued verve. "But that's not all," he added in a soft voice, raising his eyebrows. "The ministry didn't tell the _Prophet_ everything when the body was found."

Effectively intrigued by the conspiratorial glint in her friends' eyes, Hermione asked, "Oh?" Someone else appeared to be equally interested, for as she glanced at her husband she found that his gaze had risen from his work.

As Harry readied himself to explain the situation to the friend he knew he could always trust, he was prompted by a look from Ginny to consider his duty as the Head of Aurors. The glint in his eye was eclipsed by concern as he said, "We're not technically supposed to tell you this, so don't go spreading it around, all right?"

Once Hermione had given her sincere promise to confidentiality, Ron turned to his best mate. "That's okay, Harry, I'll tell her. That way if anything happens, it'll be my neck on the chopping block," he said, raising his hand to silence him. Leaning back towards Hermione, he then began the account. "The body was found in an alley by some Muggles, but luckily Allard the Obliviator got there in time to alter their memories. Then he found that on the ground by the body were the letters "FI" written in blood."

At Ron's pause in the story, Hermione began rifling through her mental library of information, but found nothing particularly useful. "FI? That's peculiar," she remarked blankly.

"We think someone may have been trying to send a message or a warning or something," Harry explained, his love of mystery displayed clearly by his eagerness.

"Shut it, Mr. Head of the Aurors, you're not supposed to be speaking!" Ron reminded with wide eyes, though he appeared more amused than concerned as he took his friend's slipup as an excuse to hit him. Suppressing a giggle, Hermione marveled at how the boys, though quite mature now, could act so positively childish when around each other. She returned her attention to the ginger in time to hear him say, "And it very well may be a Death Eater."

After the know-it-all scanned through her mental list of Death Eaters and found nothing to suit Ron's hypothesis, she turned her eyes to her husband. While silent, it was evident that the Slytherin was listening with interest to their conversation. As he caught her eye, raising a questioning eyebrow, she decided to tread lightly as she posed her question. "Severus, did you, er, are there any Death Eaters with those initials?"

If Severus was at all bothered by the question, he made no indication. "Not of the ones captured, no," was his impassive response as he regarded her placidly. "There was Filbert Irving, but he fell in the Battle of Hogwarts." Pausing a moment in contemplation, he stretched out the hands that had been cramping quite dreadfully, eliciting a few loud pops. "There may be others, of course, who evaded capture. Even I was not privy to the entire list of the Dark Lord's followers." His eyes then left his wife and scanned the others before he picked up his quill and returned to marking, adding indifferently, "But I see no reason to be concerned about one dead house-elf, even if a Death Eater was behind it."

Hermione's brow furrowed in disapproval. "Severus, don't be so hardhearted."

Before his barmy house-elf-loving friend could launch into a lecture about the sanctity of all life, Ron voiced his next hypothesis. "I bet Lucius Malfoy killed it."

The scroll Snape had been marking lowered slowly into his lap as his keen eyes focused on the Weasley. "Oh? And why would Lucius waste his time killing an insignificant house-elf and risk exposure?" he asked dryly, enjoying the nervousness he could still spark in his former student.

"Well he didn't exactly treat Dobby kindly," Harry pointed out.

Snape's eyes were now on Harry; but while their relationship was difficult to define, it remained mostly civil and sometimes bordered on friendly, causing the Gryffindor no difficulty in holding the older wizard's gaze. "I have no doubt he might kill his own house-elf, but I see no reason for him to traipse around Britain murdering others at random," Snape explained, steepling his fingers. "Unless of course the elf saw something it shouldn't have…"

As Snape's voice faded away in contemplation, Harry informed, "We've stationed Aurors in the neighborhood, so we'll catch him if he comes back."

His eyes still ever on Harry, Severus raised an eyebrow in what could have either been interest or mocking. "I hope that optimism of yours will be rewarded, Potter," he said blandly, scribbling a "T" on his current paper without shifting his gaze. "Unfortunately it seems the Aurors haven't proven exceptionally productive in their efforts thus far."

Harry stared silently at Snape as the older wizard returned his focus to marking, beginning to lazily skim the next essay. "There hasn't been any sign of the Death Eaters, sir, at least not until now," Potter responded, careful to keep his tone respectful. "And we've been keeping a close watch on Malfoy Manor."

"Malfoy's not happy about that," Ron commented with a little too much delight.

With his eyes still fixed on his old and once hated professor, Harry ensured, "Believe me, we're doing all we can."

Severus' eyes readily left the piece of rubbish that Teddy Lupin dared call an essay on hex-deflection. "Oh, of that I am certain," he responded simply. While his features were set with unreadable indifference, Hermione could detect something contemplative in his eyes.

Recognizing that there was always hidden meaning in the blandest of Snape's statements, Harry frowned but remained quiet, exchanging a few looks with Ron and Ginny.

After Severus had allowed the silence to remind his guests why they would never become too chummy with him, he set aside his bundle of scrolls and well-worn red quill. "Well as stimulating as your company is, I'm afraid I must retire," he said. Rising from his armchair, he crossed the distance to his wife and stooped down to kiss her temple. "Do try to come and join me soon, hm?" he murmured in a voice loud enough to disturb Ron.

Once the Head of Slytherin had disappeared into the bedroom, Ginny sat upright. "Well we should probably get going," she said, much to the others' disappointment. Then with a teasing wink she added to Hermione, "You don't want to keep the professor waiting; he might give you detention."

Although laughing, Hermione decided not to revisit that topic again to spare the poor ginger who looked as if he swallowed a slug. "How long will you be staying in Hogsmeade?" she asked.

"I'm afraid we can't stay very long with all the work I have waiting for me at the office," Harry answered with some regret. When he saw Hermione's smile droop considerably, he contemplated for a moment before adding, "But I'll see about staying at least to the weekend, possibly through it."

Ginny nodded in approval, some voluminous red locks falling in her face. "The kids would be heartbroken if they didn't get a chance to see you."

As Hermione's face brightened in agreement, Ron turned to the Head of Gryffindor with a wide grin. "But don't worry about me, 'Mione, I'll be sticking around longer," he informed happily. " _Somehow_ I got stationed in Hogsmeade."

As her gaze shifted to the youngest Head of the Auror Office, she eyed him suspiciously before a smile broke out on her features. "Hm, I wonder how that happened," she mused dryly. While the Potters would certainly be too busy to visit frequently, having Ron around would easily fill the void her friends' long absence had created.

Standing up, Ginny smoothed out the wrinkles in her pencil skirt before starting a slow amble towards the door. "Why don't you join us for breakfast at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow?" she suggested as the others followed suit. "Snape is free to join us too if he wants."

"That sounds great," Hermione replied, looking eagerly forward to spending more time with her friends.

After the four had exchanged a few hugs and fond farewells, they were ushered out the door reluctantly with laughter that was certainly too loud for the late hour.

Before the three visitors started down the silent corridor, Ginny turned back to Hermione with an impish grin. "Now make sure not to knock any more portraits off the wall while you're shagging each other senseless. I just heard Sir Cadogan complaining on the way here."

Closing the door with a laugh, Hermione glanced around their portrait-free quarters for a moment to wonder at Ginny's allegations before retiring to the bedroom. While her friends' visit was certainly welcome, she had waited long enough for her husband's final birthday present and would now receive it, and Sir Cadogan could burn.

* * *

 _Author's note: Sorry this update took a while, I was busy with school. And Severus and Hermione didn't want to stop snogging. Ugh, stop it, you two!_

 _Just as a note, that is probably as steamy as this story's going to get. I'm planning on keeping the T rating throughout._


	9. A Shroud

Chapter 9 – A Shroud

Although he was not a morning person, Severus Snape was in a considerably decent mood when he awoke the following day.

Even when Hermione had left his arms to have breakfast with her visiting friends, the wizard had released barely a groan as he burrowed into the warm spot she had left. He had declined his wife's invitation to meet Harry, Ron, and Ginny at the Three Broomsticks, preferring to enjoy a few more minutes of sleep rather than step out into the tempestuous rains that were shaking the castle. He had nothing against the rain, finding it quite soothing when it wasn't an inconvenience, but his bed had seemed much pleasanter at the time, even if it no longer held a soft, drowsy Hermione.

When he did ultimately drag himself out of bed and make his way the Great Hall for a quick breakfast, he had shaken off the languidness of slumber and walked with his usual purposeful gait. There was something in the way that he swept into his seat, his graceful movements lacking any aggravation, that caused the other teachers to notice his oddly pleasant humor. While Severus observed several long glances from his colleagues at the High Table, he decided benevolently to ignore them, lest his high spirits, which Hermione had worked so marvelously to cultivate last night, be sullied. However, his patience did not endure long under the far-too-jovial grin of Professor Jareth as the Potions Master claimed the seat to his right.

"Good morning, Snape," Jareth greeted brightly, tucking into his porridge. When Severus made no response, focusing keenly on his toast as the little crease returned between his brows, Jareth continued with unwavering geniality. "You're looking refreshed. Might I wager a certain Head of Gryffindor has something to do with that?"

Slowly Severus' head turned to the man beside him, obsidian eyes boring into the glistening blue orbs with restrained malice. As he discarded any pleasant feelings left over from his nighttime adventures, he returned to his usual disagreeable temper with a scowl. "I fail to see how that is any of your business, Jareth," he sneered.

"My apologies, I meant no offense," Jareth answered conciliatorily, his smile growing meeker. "What would a solitary old bachelor like me know of the matter anyway?"

Before Snape could properly glare daggers at his colleague, Jareth's attention was drawn away by Professor Publius as the ancient wizard sat down in Neville's usual seat. The Herbology professor must have joined Harry's merry party in Hogsmeade, Severus decided. And as he was forced to suffer through Publius' and Jareth's blabbering, the elderly man constantly miscalling the younger "Jared," Snape firmly regretted his decision to remain in the castle. Even the three Potter children's mindless babble was more intelligent than the nonsense his tablemates were spewing.

Just when the Head of Slytherin thought he could not stand another of Publius' thinly veiled attempts at drawing him into their conversation on various arthritis potions, the arrival of the morning post offered him a welcome distraction.

Once his owl had received a scrap of bread as compensation, the bird deposited Severus' mail on top of his toast before flying off. Cursing the marmalade that had sullied the back of his issue of _The Potioneer_ , he began sorting through the various articles, piling up a few of Hermione's magazines on beast rights and witches' rights. Finding nothing else particularly interesting, he then turned his attention to the _Prophet_ , wondering with grim humor what farfetched Death Eater sighting or theory would line the front page today. It was both entertaining and highly aggravating to read the mouth-flapping of journalists who hadn't the faintest clue about Death Eaters' behavior.

When Severus unfolded the newspaper, his faint smirk immediately faded as stark, bold letters nearly jumped off the page with their great emphasis. Below the bleak "Retired Hogwarts Professor Passes Away" was a rather macabre and oddly still photo of a shroud-covered body, only a lifeless hand peeking out from the cloth. The space that wasn't taken over by the image was filled with tiny, cramped letters that ran both vertically and horizontally across the page.

" _Professor Horace Edgar Fitzgerald Slughorn, Potions Master at Hogwarts for sixty-eight years, passed away peacefully in his sleep sometime during the last few days. His body was found last night by his neighbor Humphrey Cockburn, an owl tradesman, in Slughorn's Budleigh Babberton home._

 _While he lived a full 110 years, the professor will be dearly missed by all who knew him. His jovial attitude and passion for teaching helped raise several bright and ingenious generations of witches and wizards, educating greats like Minister Shacklebolt, Severus Snape, and even Harry Potter."_

When Professor Jareth turned to his left with a thousand expressions of lament on his tongue, he found the seat absent, viewing only the tail of Snape's robes as he swept through the side exit.

* * *

Shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, Hermione squinted at the mist shrouded castle as she made her way up the hill from Hogsmeade. While sorely missing the warmth of the Three Broomsticks, she was glad she had left the inn before Neville, desiring to be alone with her thoughts as she walked back through the steady rain.

The early morning storm had fortunately abated, leaving a grey landscape and scattered showers in its wake. Pulling her droplet-adorned wool coat closer to her body, Hermione suppressed a shiver as she recalled the picture on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.

She had gotten to know Slughorn fairly well once her teaching career had begun, speaking to him often at the High Table and staff meetings. Although he could be arrogant and somewhat elitist, Hermione was well accustomed to conceited Slytherins and found the old wizard quite agreeable. Even Severus seemed to respect and admire his old professor, for he often needed to work in close quarters with him in order to utilize Hogwarts' only fully equipped potion lab. Slughorn was also quite indulgent with Athena's interest in potions and occasional attempts to sneak into his classroom, something that amused Hermione and irritated Severus to no end.

It had been with slight sadness that she watched Slughorn retire the previous spring. The elderly wizard had forced her to promise that she and her small family would visit him soon, a promise that unfortunately had not been kept. It hadn't been high on her list of priorities at the time, for she always assumed there would be a more convenient opportunity in the future. Wizards lived far longer than Muggles after all; there was certainly plenty of time left to make good on her word. In this new era of peace, she must have forgotten the harsh reality of death, for she had never considered the possibility that her jovial old friend would leave this world anytime soon.

But something must have been ailing the old Slytherin, something she dearly wished she had known about. Now that he was gone, she realized with much guilt how selfish she had been to continually delay visiting him. Besides his apparent wizard neighbor, he had lived entirely alone in a Muggle village and would have surely benefitted from a visit. But now it was far too late.

Her friends had likewise been disheartened by the news as they peered at the paper over plates of eggs and sausage, but perhaps not to the extent that Hermione had been affected. They had not been as well acquainted with the professor as she and Neville had, and were thus less shaken as they explained to the little Potters about the deceased wizard.

When Hermione finally arrived inside the drafty, damp castle, she tried valiantly to suppress all melancholy thoughts as two house-elves helped her out of her waterlogged coat and mud-caked boots, far too distracted to resist their aid. Once she had retrieved clean footwear, she retreated to her classroom to mentally prepare for her lesson-packed day. Although she would have liked to discuss the tragedy with her husband, aware that he too would be considerably affected, the sounds of footsteps outside her door told her that the first year Gryffindor lesson was about to begin.

If she had been teaching any other group of students that morning, staying focused through her lecture about the Fire-Making Charm would have been relatively easy with her tenacious willpower. But having her plaintive daughter sitting in the front row served as a constant reminder to the unfortunate news. While she really couldn't expect the eleven year-old to focus on Charms after discovering that her grandfatherly friend had died, Hermione wished she had not been exposed to Athena's heartrending gaze so early in the day. It was certainly going to be a challenging number of lessons to muddle through.

The short break between lessons allowed Hermione the chance to impart a few encouraging words to Athena before her next class arrived. There was not much she could say, however, for the young Gryffindor hadn't dealt with death since Crookshanks' passing, and it was a struggle to be comforting when she herself felt miserable. As she held a sobbing Athena in her arms, the witch was transported back into the postwar mayhem of 1998 when countless friends were found dead on the battlefield. She had held Harry and Ron in much the same way when they first saw Lupin's and Tonks' bodies laid out in the Great Hall.

But this death, though woeful, was theoretically not as heartbreaking, for Slughorn had not been murdered or struck down in battle. He had simply passed away tranquilly from some natural cause after one hundred and ten years of life.

After getting through another lesson with better success, Hermione used her lunch hour to seek out Severus. Finding no trace of him in the Great Hall, she tried both their quarters and the Defense classroom in turn until she ultimately located him in his office.

Although she was certain her own brow had become permanently creased by the furrows that had adorned it that day, Severus' forehead appeared strangely placid as he sat behind his desk, hooked nose buried in a book.

When the wizard spared only a glance to his visitor before returning to the decrepit looking tome, Hermione asked, "Severus?"

Lifting his gaze from the tattered pages, he regarded his wife with complete equanimity as she crossed the room towards him. With her upturned eyebrows, slightly reddened eyes, and general melancholy air, it wasn't difficult to deduce the reason for her visit. "You saw the _Prophet_ , I take it," he commented solemnly.

Biting her lip, Hermione examined her husband for any sign of distress but was met with perceptible Occlumency. There was also no sign of the warmth his eyes had held that morning when she had woken nearly on top of him, but given the circumstances she could hardly blame him. "Yes. Athena's not taking it very well," she responded, trying to keep her voice from quivering. "I had no idea that Professor Slughorn had been ill…"

As Hermione trailed off pensively, Severus returned his eyes to his reading. "Mm," he responded noncommittally, flipping a page. With his eyes still fixed on their target, he waited a few moments before observing, "Peculiar photo in the paper, was it not?"

Shaken from her thoughts, Hermione regarded her suddenly disinterested husband with confusion. "The photo?" she repeated, but received no answer. "Yes, I suppose it was inappropriate. I don't remember the _Prophet_ being so morbid."

"That is not what I was referring to," Severus replied simply, turning a few more pages.

Hermione's puzzlement only grew as her husband continued in his preoccupied manner. "Then what?" she asked.

No response followed Hermione's inquiry as Severus' steady page-turning grew more rapid. After skimming a paragraph or two, he would abruptly turn to the next page and repeat the process, his brow growing more creased as he progressed. "No…no…" he murmured as he continued to search the book's pages.

Some of Hermione's increasing confusion was breeding vexation as she stood before the obviously absorbed wizard. "Severus, what are you doing?" she finally inquired once it became clear that he would never explain voluntarily.

Finally his gaze left the page, his head lifting up so swiftly that a black curtain of hair fell into his eyes. "You're a smart woman, Hermione, must I always spoon-feed you the answers?" he asked, an irritated edge to his voice. "Why not use that famed intellect of yours and drawn your own conclusions?" His eyes returned to the ancient tome in a flash.

Severus' brusque response only served to exacerbate Hermione's quickly mounting aggravation. "What are you talking about? I know his death is distressing, but that's no excuse to be such a git," she chided as her eyebrows moved up and down with every syllable, attempting to keep her voice stable.

After another length of silence, a long sigh escaped his lips as he again met her gaze, his eyes no longer glinting with irritation. "Sorry, my dear," he apologized, his tone sincere enough to placate the witch. Before she was given a chance to respond, he slid forward a copy of the _Prophet_ that sat upon the desk. "Look at his hand. Notice anything?"

Retrieving the newspaper, Hermione began to study the photo carefully as she seated herself in the rather uncomfortable chair in front of his desk. "No…" she mused as she continued to examine every centimeter of the image. "Just wrinkles and age spots." Setting down the paper, she found her husband once again absorbed in the peculiar book. "Severus, what is this about?" Her vexation had morphed into concern.

After inhaling deeply in a visible effort to maintain his patience, Severus closed his book and met her worried eyes. "I have reason to believe that those aren't mere age spots," he began stoically. Once he had scanned the room, he uttered a quick _"muffliato"_ before elaborating. "There are a number of poisons that can cause such blemishes when they react with the right potion."

Brown eyes stared blankly at the wizard for a few seconds before they dawned with comprehension and expanded in shock. " _Poisons?_ You believe Professor Slughorn was poisoned?" Hermione asked in palpable disbelief.

Severus responded to Hermione's surprise with seeming disinterest as he replied simply, "It's just a theory at present."

Hermione's brain required a few moments to catch up with her racing thoughts as the gears in her mind whirled in double time. "But wouldn't they have discovered poison in his body when determining the cause of death?" she asked when she could make sense of his supposition.

Steepling his fingers, Severus gazed at his wife with unfitting composure as he explained his theory about the old professor's murder. "I have no doubt that St. Mungo's would have performed some tests, but they aren't particularly known for their highly skilled staff," he explained caustically. "This class of poison is also quite rare and nearly impossible to detect, save when it reacts with a certain potion. It is also widely unknown because of its ties with the Dark Arts."

As her eyes fell to the sizable book on Severus' desk, she read on its tattered cover the words _"Moste Lethale Poisons."_ It seemed that her husband still owned some items from his days with the Dark Arts. As a Defense professor it could be justified, but nevertheless she didn't find the prospect particularly thrilling. "I see…" she muttered, catching her lower lip between her teeth. After another moment of contemplation, she returned her eyes to her unruffled husband with another question. "But who would have poisoned him? A Death Eater?"

Gathering his thoughts, Severus heaved a sigh before setting aside emotions to enter his full teaching mode. "As I said, this class of poison is very rare and nearly impossible to obtain," he explained with crispness usually reserved for lectures. "Whoever was in possession of it likely brewed it themselves. And to my knowledge, there was only one other Death Eater besides myself who was at all skilled in potions." His eyes met her gaze pointedly as she gained comprehension.

"Lucius," Hermione breathed. As she continued to hold Severus' black gaze, she considered the limited knowledge she had of Lucius and could draw no special connections between him and Slughorn besides Lucius once being a Slug Club member. "But why would Lucius murder Professor Slughorn?" she finally asked. "Of all the people he could murder, why him?"

Severus' blank features became alive with vexation as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "It has been a long while since I was your teacher, Hermione. Won't you ever stop asking questions?" he sighed with resigned forbearance.

At the return of her husband's surly demeanor, the Head of Gryffindor scowled as her eyebrows raised. "It's _your_ theory, Severus."

"Well I haven't worked out that part of the theory yet," the Slytherin nearly growled, his eyes flashing with ire. Just as Hermione was on the verge of chiding him for his explosive temper, his eyes suddenly emptied themselves of all emotion, appearing like nothing but a black, lifeless ocean. "Lucius was in Azkaban for quite a long time. Even without Dementors, that place is horrid enough to drive someone mad," he explained, his voice utterly devoid of feeling.

As her own anger gave way to concern, she studied her husband's impassive features for a moment and sighed inwardly. How she wished they could have one honest conversation without him falling back behind his shields of Occlumency. She had once considered that ingrained habit nearly eradicated, but his guardedness was beginning to return to their conversations once more. In attempt to ignore that disheartening fact and move the discussion forward, she asked, "Have you told Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, but she requires solid evidence before she makes any decisions or informs the Ministry," Severus replied, maintaining his indifferent mask. "And I quite agree. The _Prophet_ is full of enough anecdotal rubbish without the addition of another theory." After punctuating his opinion with a caustic lip curl, he once again opened his book and delved back into the wonder of poisons.

Seated before his desk in the chair she had claimed so many times in the past, she swung her legs idly as her brain continued its attempts to process Severus' distressing theory and conceive ways to confirm or refute it. When she glanced up from her lap, she discovered that her husband was once again absorbed in his book and appeared unwilling to offer further information. "Well I'll leave you to your research then."

As Hermione rose from her chair, Severus' eyes locked onto hers with palpable gravity. "Tell no one of this, especially not Athena," he instructed firmly.

"Of course. The poor girl is distressed enough as it is," Hermione agreed, nodding a little sadly. As she turned for the door, she was again stopped by her husband's words.

"See if Potter can obtain all the medicinal potions from Slughorn's house," he requested, eyeing her earnestly. "I'll need them if I'm ever to determine if he was poisoned."

After assuring her husband that she would relay his request to Harry without exposing his theory, Hermione left the professor's office to appease her growling stomach before her next class began.

* * *

With a slew of thoughts and emotions churning in Hermione's mind, the staff meeting that evening seemed to drag on immeasurably. She had spent an agreeable afternoon with her friends once she finished her last lesson, their company helping her to refrain from melancholy pondering. Athena had joined them all in a walk around the grounds, seemingly a little happier as she spent time with the Potter children. Hermione had not even thought to invite Severus to join them, understanding that he would much rather work on his research. Even without him she enjoyed herself immensely and was very reluctant to leave her friends for the staff meeting.

The meeting had begun with a little eulogy from the Headmistress in honor of Slughorn, but then moved on to more mundane matters. While topics more pressing than the decorations for the Hallowe'en Feast could have been discussed, Professor McGonagall had evidently agreed with Severus on the need for secrecy until it could be proven that Slughorn had not died of natural causes. If such was the case, and an actual murder had taken place, it would be the first major incident since the Death Eaters' escaped and would signal the need for serious vigilance. Hermione could only imagine how Publius and Trelawney would respond to such news, but drew no humor from those thoughts since her husband wasn't there to sneer at their current ill-informed predictions. He had been excused from the meeting to continue his research, leaving Hermione with only the companionship of Neville to withstand Trelawney's gibberish.

While Sydney Jareth's attentions could sometimes border on obsessive and slightly odd, the Potions professor had been surprisingly agreeable despite the Head of Gryffindor's foul mood. He had evidently been shaken by the death of his hero, although it was doubtful he had ever actually known Slughorn, and offered her a sympathetic ear as she spoke about the wizard before the meeting began.

When the pointless meeting finally came to a conclusion, Hermione retired to her quarters as soon as she could wriggle out of Hagrid's sorrowful embrace. Not surprised to find it empty despite the late hour, she readied herself for bed and then settled into the covers with a book to await her husband's return.

If anyone had been observing Hermione, it would have been quite evident that she wasn't actually reading. She had been staring at the same page of _Merpeople: A Comprehensive Guide to Their Language and Customs_ for at least half an hour, and hell would freeze over before anyone would believe Hermione Granger read that slowly. No, her mind had wandered nearly a minute after opening the new book as she contemplated the events of the day.

The numbness that Severus' poison theory produced had worn off, leaving sorrow and disgust in its wake. No matter how she looked at the situation, she couldn't understand why anyone would have targeted Horace Slughorn. There was the fact that he had unintentionally aided Tom Riddle in creating Horcruxes, but she couldn't really see how that was relevant years later. And if the murderer had been Lucius, she didn't believe it likely his reason.

But whatever the reason, murder was still horrible and greatly added to the tragedy of Slughorn's death. Ever the emotional Gryffindor, she found her eyes welling up with tears as she abandoned all attempts at reading her book. In retrospective contemplation she realized she hadn't felt so sick since Severus had finally opened up to her about his past crimes. That incident was different, however, for her husband was a reformed and deeply regretful killer who had set his life on the right path again and lived to atone for his mistakes. Nothing was known about Slughorn's murderer.

It was as tears continued to stream down her cheeks that Severus finally returned and shuffled into the bedroom. Through the saltwater in her eyes she could still clearly perceive his agitation as he removed his teaching robes in swift, jerky movements that were commonly produced by a rotten temper. Her supposition was confirmed when his face came into view, all scrunched and furrowed as the vein on his forehead throbbed visibly.

"Severus…" Hermione began softly, her voice uncertain as she eyed him carefully.

Turning around to meet her watery gaze, his features suddenly composed themselves in stark impassivity. "Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice devoid of any sympathy.

At the abrupt return of his Occlumency mask, a part of Hermione wished he had remained aggravated. At least when his temper was on full display she had a good chance of reading him properly. Inhaling with a loud sniff, she wiped back the tears from her eyes. "Because of Professor Slughorn, of course," she replied, surprised by his evident confusion.

Severus made no response as he moved to his wardrobe to hang up his robe, his face containing about as much emotion as a rock. His movements had regained the fluid grace they had lacked upon his arrival, but as his wife studied him keenly, she didn't buy his stolidity for a second.

As he pulled a pair of grey pajamas from the bottom drawer, Hermione fixed him with a sympathetic gaze as she willed him to meet her eyes. "You don't need to use Occlumency anymore, darling," she spoke soothingly, desperately hoping to draw him out from his defensive walls. "It's all right to be sad. I know he was your friend. This must be very hard for you."

Holding his wife's gaze, his expressionless mask remained steady save for a minute twitch of his eye. After another moment of his unreadable stare, he turned away as he crossed the room to fetch his slippers. "I don't see the need for tears, nor the need to discuss this further," he stated firmly. "He lived a good long life."

Hermione's mouth fell slightly open in shock as her eyes expanded, searching her husband's casual demeanor for an explanation, and unable to understand the wholly unsympathetic indifference he was emitting. "What?" she asked, feeling her anger rise as he made no response. "How can you be so callous? He was _murdered_."

Sitting down on the corner of the bed furthest from Hermione, Severus bent down and began unlacing his boots. "That is only a hypothesis. Even if I do discover traces of poison, it could have been suicide," he replied simply, his tone more appropriate for a discussion about the weather.

After drying her eyes completely, the Gryffindor inhaled with a loud sniff and furrowed her brow. "I highly doubt that Slughorn would have taken his own life," Hermione maintained firmly, her voice dropping nearly an octave.

Halting in his unlacing efforts and sitting upright, Severus gave her a sidelong glance and sneered. "Ah yes, my bleeding-heart wife who can't believe ill of anyone," he scoffed as if he had remembered something quite simple.

Vexation colored Hermione's cheeks a bright crimson as she retorted, "Well if that's the case, it certainly worked well in _your_ favor." Out of everyone in her acquaintance, he was the one most difficult to find goodness in at times, particularly when he reverted to the nasty professor persona he had been developing most his life. "Doesn't this bother you at all?" she entreated, still stunned by his lack of compassion.

Turning his head so that she could no longer see his face, the Defense teacher fell momentarily silent. "The elusiveness of the poison is very bothersome, yes," he mused nonchalantly.

"Oh, is that all this is to you? A research project?" Hermione demanded, her brow becoming as wrinkled as an eighty year-old. As her ire continued to swell in her rapidly-pounding chest, she observed her husband's equanimity and wondered how much anger she needed to demonstrate to elicit some of his own. "Well your suspicions are backed by very thin evidence. Those could very well just be age spots on his hand, and you're getting everybody worked up for nothing. It was just a photo after all," she maintained, folding her arms.

Although his wife's fiery gaze was boring holes into the back of his head, Severus remained unmoved. "If you can think of any brilliant way to get to his body before he's buried, do tell. Somehow I doubt St. Mungo's will be very obliging, but perhaps you can manage to at least nick a finger," he drawled with cold, dry humor.

As Hermione's aggravation reached a new level, her nostrils began to flare as she maintained her vicious gaze. "I still don't understand how you can treat this so casually!" she exclaimed, no longer caring to keep her voice down. "I thought Professor Slughorn was your friend."

The room fell silent once the faint echoes of Hermione's ire had faded away. At length the creak of bed springs broke through the quiet as Severus pivoted on the bed to face her. As she met his eyes, she thought she could detect the slightest flash of something – guilt? – before his eyes became stone once more. "He was a colleague," Severus allowed.

After carefully examining those round, obsidian slabs but receiving no other sign of emotion, Hermione again narrowed her eyes at the wizard. "He saved your life," she articulated in a low, firm voice.

A snort escaped him as his eyes grew caustic. "I don't recall it being his fond memories that created Fortaffectus."

"But he was the one who knew about the potion and knew the spell to make it," Hermione argued, her volume again increasing. "I don't think _you_ even knew about it, did you?"

At the jab at his intelligence, Severus' eyes matched his wife's cold gaze with equal vexation. "Even if I had, I would not have bothered mentioning it," he replied, his voice no longer as steady and impassive. Then with an obvious sneer he added, "It was mere luck that the old man studied rarely effective potions."

Indifference was one thing, but Severus' callous and irreverent words about the recently deceased grated on Hermione's nerves and boiled her blood. Even though his temper had been her close friend since she was twelve, and her constant companion throughout their marriage, his current attitude seemed too cruel for even Severus Snape. "I don't understand you at all sometimes!" she exclaimed in exasperation. The condescending glare he responded with only worked to fan the flames of her rage. "Slughorn was our friend and…the best Potions Master Hogwarts ever had."

Perhaps if she hadn't been as incensed, she would have instantly regretted her spiteful words.

For a moment as the room fell into an uncomfortable silence, it looked like Severus was going to snap as his eyes flashed with ire and his eyebrows scrunched considerably. When he finally did speak, however, his aggravation wasn't as nearly as fiery as his wife had expected. The vexation was still quite palpable, but he seemed as equally fatigued. "Hermione, I'm really not in the mood for this tonight," he sighed. Then firming his voice significantly he added, "I will not share a bed with a hysterical Gryffindor."

As her husband rose from the bed, Hermione answered him with equal stiffness, the fury in her eyes beginning to die down. "How very convenient for you, because I won't share _my_ bed with a coldhearted Slytherin."

"Very well," Severus answered softly as his mask of Occlumency returned. "Then I see no reason to torment you further. Good night, Professor Granger." Dropping his pajamas on the bed, he swept out of their bedroom before another word was spoken.

As the front door closed a few seconds later, its melancholy timbre resonating through the silent quarters, Hermione slid beneath the covers and sighed. " _Here we go again…"_

* * *

 _Author's note: And here we have the return of Git!Snape. Because SweetHubby!Snape can't last for very long, it seems. This'll all make sense eventually though, we swears on the precious._


End file.
